Coming Home
by Blossom9
Summary: When her brother returns after years of being away Elizabeth Westen is determined to find out why and in the process finds her self thrown into one of Michael's many jobs.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Yes Ma, I'm walking up the driveway right now. I told you I'd come." I sighed, exasperated. I'd like to go just one day without getting a call from my mother. Just one day of peace without her constant worry about bills, or pills or my brothers.

I stood in the driveway of my childhood home, pausing for a moment to put up my defenses. I hated coming back to this house, but my mother always seemed to find away to drag me back- often with the pretense of needing something fixed. I have two older brothers and yet I'm the one she calls when the weed-eater won't start.

I trudged up the steps, my messenger bag thumping against the back of my thighs. Taking one more deep breath, I opened the back kitchen door and walked into the smoky room. My mother chain-smoked like a chimney and the entire house permanently reeked of stale tobacco smoke.

"Lizzie!" she called out, excitedly from the dining room

"Hey ma," I called back, heading straight to the dishwasher which she had told me was making strange clunking sound. "What's wrong with the washer?"

"Lizzie, come in here!"

I rolled my eyes, wishing she would just tell me what was wrong instead of making me guess. Everything with her was like this- she'd never just say what she wanted, instead I got the joy of trying to come up with the right answer to make her happy. Another reason I tried to avoid her.

I walked into the dining room, expecting to see my mother pouring over medical books looking for her next hypochondriac disease like usual, but I was shocked to find her standing next to my older brother, Michael.

My older brother who I'd hadn't seen in over 10 years. A man I hardly recognized.

"Lizzie! Michael's home!" my mother sing-songed excitedly.

"Home?" I questioned warily.

Michael joined the military at 17, all but abandoning my second oldest brother, Nate, and me to my father's drunken rages. He'd come home only three times since then, and only for very short stays.

"For now." Mike answered.

I stood across the dining room from him and my mother, appraising him. He wasn't the teenaged boy I remembered, or even the young man he was last time I saw him. He looked older, more tired and I wondered again what he had been doing.

"Lizzie! Aren't you gonna hug your brother?!" my mother chided, crossing the room to come towards me.

I certainly wasn't going to hug him. He might be my brother, but he was still an abandoning asshole.

"Actually Ma, I just came over to look at the dishwasher…" I said turning to her "but I can see it's probably not broken, so I really have to go."

I turned, desperate to the leave house. The smoke and the memories were getting to be too much.

"Michael, you know your sister has her own business now!" Ma said proudly, grabbing my elbow, forcing me to stay in the room.

Mike nodded, no real emotion on his face. He stood in the room like a statue the entire time, never relaxing. I guessed that he felt as uncomfortable here as I did.

"Yeah" I said, nodding at Mom "And I really gotta get back to it"

"What do you do Lizzie?" Mike asked, his voice flat.

"I'm freelance." I replied briefly " Look Ma, I really gotta go. " I said freeing myself from her grasp.

"It was good seeing you Mike!" I called out, giving a small clipped wave as I turned to go.

I nearly ran back out the back door, my blood boiling and my lungs desperate for fresh air. Just seeing him made me angry. It was like being 12 again and helpless. I hated being helpless. I had worked my entire adult life to make sure that I was never helpless again; I could take care of myself. That was one thing Michael's leaving taught me.

I paused before getting into my car, taking a deep breath through my nose to calm my emotions. I had to just let all that go. Mike would most likely be gone tomorrow, if not the next day, not to be seen or heard from again for several years. I could safely bury the feelings of hurt and anger with the memories of him and go back to my normal life.

At least having him around for a day or two would get my mother off my back.

A week later, everything was back to normal. I was in a great mood, having not heard from my mother since she called me to hassle me about the meeting with my brother. The radio silence from her was refreshing, and while I knew it was her way of punishing me for how I acted, it was pleasant. We'd done this dance before, eventually she would call and ask why I hadn't called her, and wasn't I worried that I hadn't heard from her? She could be dead in a ditch somewhere and I'd never know! At least for now the quiet was enjoyable.

Apart from the peace from my mother I was also back to work. I was working a part time job for the Miami Dade Housing Authority and while the job was as boring as anything I'd ever done, working for the county gave me spectacular access to records and documents which I found fascinating- and potentially useful. It also gave me plenty of time to work on my "freelance" business.

I was walking home from work when I got a call from a buddy of mine, asking about getting some freelance work done. He had a friend who needed some reproductions made of some key cards and ID badges. Now, I specialize in passports and immigration papers, and living in Miami I get a pretty good amount of business, but I don't mind helping out a friend on some smaller projects. So I said I would meet his friend later that evening at a restaurant downtown.

When I arrived at the restaurant a few hours later, I sat down at the bar to get a look around at the cliental. Although counterfeits aren't exactly top priority for the Miami police, I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate, to take down a girl who's been getting illegal aliens fake passports for the past 4 years, so I liked to look around and see who came to dinner just in case. As I scouted the restaurant and bar, I noticed a man who I thought might be my buyer. He was an older guy, maybe in his mid-40s, with dark brown hair, that was going grey on the sides. He had the salt and pepper scruff of two-day-old facial hair and wore a loud Hawaiian shirt, the top button open so that several grey chest hairs were poking out.

Ugh.

Yeah that was probably him. When my buddy told me to look for a man in a loud print shirt and khakis, I nearly kicked him. That's the description of nearly every man over 40 in Miami. But against the backdrop of the downtown-chic bar, with everyone dressed to impress, this guy stood out.

I sat at the bar for a few more minutes, watching him and surveying the scene. He looked completely at ease, ordering another drink and flirting with the waitress. After deciding he looked harmless I made my way over.

"Hi, there," I said to him, deciding to play coy, seeing if he knew who I was.

"Well, hello there," he said sitting up and running his eyes over me. I was wearing a thin, cotton dress and heels, nothing amazing, but enough to blend into the downtown scene.

"You look like you could use some company..." I said twirling my straw around my drink.

"Ah... I'd love to honey, oh believe me I would, but I'm actually here on business."

"Oh," I said, sitting down across from him. "Me too."

The man looked torn, part of him very obviously wanted me to stay, but I could see that he also wanted to get his work done.

"Look, hun, maybe another time, I could come back and we could chat…"

"I think we should chat now Sam," I said grinning at him. Playing him was just too much fun, and as much as I would have loved to string him along and get him all worked up, I also had work to do, "Barry said you need IDs, what are you looking for?"

Sam looked shocked, and was speechless for a moment.

"Ah..." he said, chuckling and shaking his head. "So you are the artist huh?"

"What? Barry didn't tell you I was a woman?"

"Uh no, he left that out, what did you say your name was?

"Dana, but that not really important. Let talk about what you need, I'm here to help" I said, dropping all pretext and putting on my 'lets get to work' voice.

"Ok well good to meet you Dana, I'm Sam. Barry said you are the best, so I'm coming to you for some of that expertise. "

Sam slid a napkin across the table with writing on it.

"I need a key card and ID badge for this building"

SanCo Securities.

I'd never heard of it, but that wouldn't be a problem. Most of the security type places are the same: coded key card, photo ID badges, nothing to crazy.

"Ok. How much?" I asked.

People rarely know how much dubs cost, so it's nice to let them make the first offer.

A person who offers too much is either unknowing or possibly generous. A person who offers to little is usually just unappreciative.

"$700."

Damn. This guy was good. He hit it on the mark. I was hoping for six, but by offering seven he was letting me know I was worth it, even for such a small job. I decided to try my luck for some more just in case though

"No way. This is complicated. I'd need at least 9"

Sam laughed and took a drink of his mojito.

"Sorry sweetie, you're cute and all, but 7 is where that stays. Its more than fair."

I debated for a moment, irritated that he wasn't as dumb as he looked. Usually I could play up the girl card and get whatever I was looking for.

"Ok fine. $750, but I'm gonna need a photo. Are you feeling photogenic tonight Sam?"

Sam chuckled again, smiling at me. For someone who was talking about making fake badges that would probably be used in a break-in he was very relaxed, I liked that about him.

"No, it's not for me. For a buddy."

Jeez. I'm making a copy for a friend-of-a friend of a friend's friend.

"Ok" I said as he handed me a small 4x3 photo.

I glanced at it quickly; ready to shove it into my bag, but the second I looked at the photo I had to do a double take.

It was Michael. My eyes flicked from the photo to Sam before I could stop myself.

Who was this guy? What was going on? Why does my brother need a key card for a securities firm? My head was spinning with questions and my adrenaline picked up the pace. I looked at the photo once more, just to be sure it wasn't the dim light of the bar playing tricks on me. No it was definitely him.

I paused, quickly trying to rein in my emotions. This was a job. I needed to be professional. I put the put the photo in my bag without another glance.

"When do you need it?" I asked Sam, willing my pulse to slow down.

"Soon as you can get it done," he replied, looking at me curiously. He had noticed my reaction to the photo.

"Ok, I need time to go by SanCo and see what they are working with. Wednesday work for you?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah call me, my numbers on the back"

I flipped over the napkin he had handed me earlier to find a phone number scrawled on the back.

"Ok." I said standing up, ready to leave. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible so I could get another look at that photo.

"Leaving so soon? You should stay for a drink. You know business expense?" Sam smiled up at me, his earlier charm turned back on.

"Love to Sam," I said, mirroring his flirty attitude, "maybe another time,"

I hurried away from him, anxious to be alone. By the time I got back to my apartment I was nearly beside myself with curiosity. I hadn't dared to pull out the picture until I was at home, alone and safe. Afraid just looking at it would reveal some big loud secret.

I pulled the small photo out and sat down on a stool at my kitchen island to study it. It was my brother. That was for sure. It was also a photo I'd never seen, which wasn't surprising. It was a simple passport style shot, only showing his head and shoulders. He wasn't smiling it in. More his face held a slightly intense gaze, although not threatening. I turned the photo over, hoping to find something on the back, but of course it was blank.

Looking at the photo again, I studied his face. It was so strange to see him all grown up. All my memories held him as a child and teenager. My big older brother: always so serious, always so defensive. He was the one who took the brunt of my father's anger. Even in the small photo I could make out the two scars running down his left cheek that dad gave him. Dad was great that way; we each had something to remember him by. Nate had a curved scar running just above his lip, and mine was angled slash above my left eyebrow, courtesy of a beer bottle he threw at me in eighth grade.

I sat staring at the photo for a while, my thoughts drawn back to my childhood at home with my brothers. It wasn't all bad. Dad might disappear on a bender for a few days and the house would be peaceful and calm. Or Mom might get tired having her dishes smashed and take us out to dinner. I wished I could think of more happy memories, but each time I thought about Mike, I thought about when he left and how angry my father was and how bad things got.

I shook my head, clearing it of those violent thoughts and focusing back on the task at hand. My brother needed a fake keycard for a security building. This was extremely curious. As far as I knew, Mike was in the military, Special Forces I think. None of us were really sure what he had been doing. He'd call mom every year on her birthday, and the number always came up blocked. He said he was overseas, but he never said where. I just always assumed he was out being a solider, shooting guns and digging foxholes. But what would a solider need with a fake keycard to a Miami business?

It was possible that Mike had left the military and was now pursuing less honorable past times like Nate and me. It was hard to picture Mike as a criminal though. Even when he stole stuff as a kid, it was always for a reason- Dad blew all our money on liquor and we need groceries- Dad broke my arm and refused to let us have the car to go to the hospital. He stole groceries, school supplies, even cars, but it was always for a reason, always honorable. There really isn't anything honorable about making fake-ids.

So he must have a reason for wanting into the business. I supposed I could just ask him what was going on, but I really didn't want to talk to him again, and something told me he'd just lie -maybe because that's what I'd do.

He said he wasn't going to be here long; maybe the security company had something he needed to get out of the country. Maybe they owed him money? I'd have to figure out more about this business. I'd have to make the keycard and then follow him. Maybe then I could find out what he was up to.

Well that was decided. I was calling in sick to work tomorrow.

_**disclaimer- I do not own any of the Burn Notice characters._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I woke up earlier than usual the next morning, excited to start on my little mystery. I'd googled SanCo Securities last night and hadn't really gotten much other than an address and a very vague, non descript looking website about portfolio management and asset allocation. Not even a photo of the building or stock photos of happy looking employees.

I decided to take the bus down to the business district where SanCo was located to scope it out and hopefully snag the card I needed to make the dub.

When I arrived at the address I found a building equaling the nondescript website the company had. If you weren't looking, you'd walk right past. It was a grey stone building, nice but not historic. No interesting architectural doors or window arches, like so many of the downtown buildings.

The only thing exceptional about it was how dull it was. I couldn't imagine working in a place like this 40 hours a week. I'd hang myself by my security lanyard.

After assessing the outside of the building I decided to go on in and see if I could get what I needed. It would be nice to have this done in one trip. As I entered the building, I saw I would have to go through a metal detector and I was thankful I decided to leave my gun at home. I don't normal leave it, but I figured there was a pretty slim chance of being attacked in the middle of the morning on corporate avenue.

I made it through the check with no problem, smiling shyly at the guard. As I walked through the front lobby and scanned the room, I noticed that all the employees scanned their key cards as they entered the elevators. I walked over to a front window and pulled out my phone, pretending to text as I perused the area; looking to see who might have ID key they wouldn't notice missing right away.

I found my target pretty quickly. He was a middle-aged guy, short and somewhat balding. He held a stack of papers and folders, all messily stacked on top of one another. He looked frazzled, possibly running late for something, and I could see his keycard, clipped precariously to the left breast pocket of his ill fitting suit. Perfect.

I walked towards him, timing my steps and not looking up from my phone until we crashed into each other, hard. I swung my hand out in surprise, sending his papers flying and dropped my phone at the same time.

"OH!" I called out as we collided.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" I rushed, bending down to help gather his papers and my phone.

"Ugh." he huffed, then turned to look down at me. I knew from the angle he was standing he could probably see straight down my top, "Its..uh.." he stuttered

"I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz," I said smiling, grabbing more files. He bent down to my level and gave me a soft, sweaty smile

"It's ok, I was in a rush, I didn't see you,"

We continued apologizing and picking up papers and documents. I glanced at the papers, they were all print copies of purchase orders, the only thing I recognized were the names of some guns.

As I handed him the stack of papers I had collected, I casually brushed my hand over his breast pocket, snagging the key and hiding it in my palm in one fluid motion. I hid the card behind my phone as I slipped both into my purse.

"I should really put this thing away while I walk, " I said, smiling flirtatiously at him.

He smiled back and I turned to go, pleased with how painless that was.

I stopped by a deli on the way to the bus stop and grabbed a yogurt and granola for breakfast before heading back home to get to work. Getting the card was the tough part, making the fake was the fun part.

"Sam?"

"Dana? Done already girl?"

I called Sam late that night, having finished the copy and eager to get started on figuring out what Mike was up to.

"Yeah, well it seemed like you needed it, so I went the extra mile for you,"

"Alright then! Do you know Carlito's? On 8th? I'm here now if you wanna stop by"

"You have the cash with you?" I asked, suspicious that a man would sit around with that kind of money in his pocket.

Sam laughed. "I'll walk over the to ATM"

I smiled, despite myself. "Ok, I'll be there in 30"

I arrived at Carlitos about 20 minutes later, the keycard with Mike's photo safely tucked into an innocuous manila folder. I spotted Sam easily. He sat alone at a table, 4 or 5 empty beer bottles his only companions.

"Drinking alone, Sam?" I asked approaching the table.

"Not anymore my dear! Have a seat!" he said giddily as I sat down across from him.

His boozy tone led me to believe that five beers on the table were only a small part of the alcohol he had imbibed that evening. And it was only 9:30.

I don't usually like dealing with drunks. As a rule I try to stay away from them actually, my father's own affliction having ruined me for social drinking. But Sam wasn't totally sloshed and he was cheerful and funny in a way that put me at ease.

"I brought you a present," I said teasingly, smiling at him.

"You I know I love ya Dana girl!" he said grinning.

I pulled the small envelope out of my bag and passed it over to him. He opened up the top and peeked inside, having at least the presence of mind not to whip the whole thing out in the middle of a restaurant.

"Oh you shouldn't have. Its just want I wanted," Sam smiled again, and then folded the envelope and put it in his back pocket.

"I got you something too," he said nodding down to the folded newspaper on the table between us. I reached for it and turned up the corner, finding a neat stack of bills tucked inside. I smiled and grabbed the paper, cash in all, and put it in my purse.

"Oh Sam, you know the way to a woman's heart!" I said enjoying our coy little exchange.

"I am a lady's man" he replied, taking a deep swing of his beer. "How about that drink?"

Part of me wanted to stay and sit with him, see if I could pry some information from him about Mike and the card, but I knew logically I probably wouldn't get anywhere. It was really better for me to continue to treat this like I would another job, just make the drop and go, no need for small talk and making friends. Clients are clients. The less Sam knew about me the better chance I had at catching Mike at whatever he was up to.

"Sorry Sam, I gotta run. Let me know if that works out for you though?"

"Oh.. Alright," he said sighing, " but if my buddy likes your work though, you just might have to have a drink with me eventually."

"Well we can only hope. See ya around Sam."

With that I took off and headed back home, beginning to mentally prepare for my plan.

For the second day in a row I was up early. I knew that the SanCo offices opened at 9, but I didn't know if Mike would try to go early and use the card before the office was full of people, so I decided to not risk it and arrived at 6am This district was still asleep; all the businesses were closed, only a few downtown deli restaurants opening up. I walked around, aimlessly for a while. My plan was to plant my ass in front of SanCo for as long as it took to see Mike, I just hoped it wouldn't take too long. This was day two of calling out of work and while I didn't love my part-time job, I did like my standing in the county government enough that I would rather not lose it on account of stalking my brother.

As I walked around, I scanned the area around the building, noting that if Mike was going to enter, it would have to be through one of the two doors on the front of the building that I had used yesterday. There didn't seem to be any other entrance points, in the back of my mind questioned if that was a fire hazard.

After a while, I went to another local place and bought some granola, orange juice and a magazine and headed to the park near SanCo to set up shop. The park was in a great location, not directly across from the building, but just to the side. Sitting on a bench near the corner, I could see the entire sidewalk in front of SanCo, without being totally seen myself.

I ate my granola slowly, trying to make each bite last in attempt to kill time. I didn't anticipate how boring this was going to be. It was only 7:30 in the morning. I was really going to have work on my patience if I wanted to see this through. As I ate I watched the cars go by and traffic pick up and the morning commute got into full swing. I kept watch for Mike or Sam, wondering what kind of car they might be driving.

After several hours of sitting, watching, wandering and reading the same magazine over and over I finally spotted him. It was just before lunchtime, and the hustle and bustle that that quieted down after the morning rush was picking up again. People were flooding the streets from the buildings, anxious to get outside of their offices and soak up the Miami sun. I almost missed him, making his way through the throngs of mildly dressed office employees. It was only the glint of his sunglasses as he turned his head that caught my eye.

He was dressed in a nice dark suit, with a blue shirt underneath. He looked like every other middle management type that I had seen that morning. Except for how he walked. While most of the men I watched go in to SanCo walked with slow step and soft back of a paper pusher, Mike walked with impeccable posture and clear purpose.

I stood up from my watch spot on the bench to get a better look. As I moved, he suddenly turned around, scanning the horizon in my direction. I immediately turned to the side, letting my hair fall over my face and looking down at the magazine.

Surely he didn't see me; there were too many people out here. I was anonymous in the crowd I was sure.

When I glanced up again, through the curtain of my hair to look at him, he was gone. I tossed my hair off my face and began to search for him in earnest.

As I took a step forward towards the building, a hand shot out unexpectedly from beside me, grabbing my arm, wrenching it tightly up against the middle of my back and pinning me easily to the trunk of the palm tree I stood next to. I was so surprised I didn't even have a time to scream.

"Who are you?" hissed a feminine voice in my ear.

I didn't answer, instead struggling against her hold. I could feel in her presence that she wasn't a large woman, although her vice like grip on my wrist led to believe she was still dangerous.

At my refusal to answer, she pulled my arm up higher into my back, straining my muscles, causing me to cry out as tears came to my eyes.

"I could break it, if I would help you remember, " she said, changing her hold slightly, so that my wrist was bent back uncomfortably.

"Fi!" a voice called out from behind us.

Before the voice had time to register in my brain, the woman let go of my arm and the larger hand of a man grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around before grabbing me by the throat, pushing me back into the tree and cutting off my air. I wrapped both my hands around his wrist, instantly ready to claw my way out, but in the same second his hand came to my throat, Sam's voice came out from behind us.

"Dana?! What are you doing? Mikey, that's the little counterfeit girl I was telling you about." Sam said staring at me in disbelief.

Mike didn't move for a moment. His hand was still around my throat, not actively trying to strangle me anymore thankfully, though in his eyes he looked like he wanted to.

My heart was beating out of my chest. I didn't let go of his wrist, waiting for him to release me or finish the job.

He glared at me as he spoke to them.

"Not Dana, Sam. It's my little sister. " He said, finally releasing his grip from around my neck.

I gulped in air, shakily.

Sam and the woman he had called Fi, both looked between us incredulously. Fi stared at me angrily.

Mike turned away from me and scanned the park, before turning back around and grabbing me by the upper arm roughly.

"Come on," he said, half dragging me towards the park.

I angrily tried to shake off his grip, but he refused to release. Sam and Fi followed us to a stone picnic table where Mike finally let go, nodding for me to sit down. I sat, not because I wanted to, more that I didn't know what to do.

All three of them looked angry, Sam even looked disappointed. Guess he had liked my flirty little cover more than I thought.

"What are you doing here?" Mike asked, sitting down across from me. Sam came to sit beside him, while Fiona remained standing, arms crossed, glaring at me.

"I could ask you the same thing." I replied.

"Don't Lizzie. Why are you here?"

"Oh, Lizzie," said Sam, "That's a good name, short for Elizabeth I presume?"

I looked over at him with frown. I liked boozy, flirty Sam better than this annoyed, angry one.

Mike was silent. Waiting on my reply.

"Customer service questionnaire." I answered sarcastically "How's my forgery?"

Michael was not amused.

"Liz…" he began.

"What? I was just out here enjoying a nice morning at the park, reading a magazine and soaking up the sun before I was assaulted by your little girlfriend there," I said nodding over to Fiona. "What kind of world is this where a girl can't even sit a public park in the middle of the day without having to worry about being attacked, I mean really."

There was silence for a moment.

"Wow Mike, she's almost as good of a liar as you," Sam said

Mike looked over at him annoyed. He turned back to me, obviously exasperated with the entire situation.

"One last time, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I told you." I replied calmly.

He looked down at his suit, pulling the key card ID off his blazer, showing it to me.

"You made this?"

I nodded.

Mike sighed and glanced around the park again, agitated. At the sight of him looking around I did the same, wondering if I should be looking for police or something.

"I don't believe her," Fiona said, injecting herself into the conversation. " The card probably doesn't even work,"

"Excuse me, " I said, feeling my blood begin to boil. "I don't know you, but you really should watch your mouth. I know what I'm doing, that card most certainly works."

Fiona smirked at me, pleased to have gotten a reaction. "Why should we believe you?"

It was my turn to glare at her. She better not be his girlfriend. This girl was beyond irritating.

"It works. I can go home and make another if you'd like," I said snapping at her.

"That won't be necessary," Mike said standing up.

"You know, I should have known Mikey," Sam said standing up to follow him. "She's good, too good almost,"

"Wait!" I shouted, standing, as they began to move away from me. "What are you doing here? Why are you trying to get into that building?"

Mike was quiet, adjusting his suit jacket and sunglasses.

"Go home Liz."

"No. I want to know. What's a good little soldier like you need with a counterfeit key card to a security firm?"

"Liz, go home before I drag you there myself." Mike said threateningly.

I glared at him angrily. I didn't just do all this work and sit around all morning to get no answers.

"Michael, you better tell me…." I began as he turned to walk away. "Or I'm gonna tell mom."

That got him. It might be preschool logic, but apparently it still worked. Mike froze for a moment, then stalked over to me, and getting in my face.

"I am doing a job." He said through clenched teeth. "A dangerous job that neither you or mom need to be involved in, got it?"

He was pissed now; I could see the vein in his forehead strain with the intensity of his words.

"Now, Go. Home," he said punctuating each word, and with that he turned on his heel and walked away from me hurriedly, not looking back. Sam and Fi followed him.

I sat back down at the stone picnic table, disheartened. Not only did I waste my morning and not get any answers, but now I had even more questions. Why was he acting like that? Why did he get so angry? And what could he need at SanCo? Nothing made sense. I was frustrated with the whole thing. Part of me wanted to call my mother at that very moment and be a tattletale and tell her that Mike was up to something bad, the other part of me didn't think it was worth it to talk to her.

I stood up and walked back to the bench where I had stood watch most of the morning. I glanced around the SanCo entrances to see if I could spot Mike or Sam or Fiona. Nothing. They had walked away from me at the park and disappeared into the Miami lunch crowds. I sighed and decided to go home. Whatever Mike wanted from this place he could have it. I was exhausted and needed a nap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

I was dozing on the couch in my apartment several hours later when my cell rang. I rolled over to grab it and glanced at the screen: my mother. I rolled my eyes and momentarily considered letting it go to voicemail, but then thought better of it. She'd continue to call until I answered.

"Hi Ma,"

"Lizzie! I need a ride to the doctor this afternoon, can you come pick me up?"

"What?" I wasn't entirely sure this wasn't another one of her tricks "When?"

"In an hour, I need to be there Liz, this is important."

I sighed. My mother can drive and she knows her way around town, but she seems to only do so when it's convenient for her. Which meant that if she wanted me to give her a ride, she had other plans for me- plans I was sure I didn't want to be part of.

"Ma, I'm at work right now, I can't come."

"Liz, don't you lie to me. I know what time you get done at work,"

Shit, I thought. I hadn't bothered to look at what time it was when I answered.

"Isn't Mike still in town? Can't he take you? Or Nate?" or anyone, I thought to myself.

"Your brothers are busy, Elizabeth. Now, come over here I need to get going,"

Ugh. Apparently there was no getting out of this.

"Alright, fine. I'm on my way,"

"Good. See you soon honey, be careful driving," Ma said, pleased.

I rolled my eyes and sat up off the couch, more annoyed than ever. Having Mike home was beginning to be a huge pain. He couldn't even drive mom to one appointment? God knows I've paid my dues trucking her around for the last ten years, you think he could at least take her one. But of course, Ma probably didn't even ask. She'd much rather bother me with useless stuff then my brothers because "they're busy". Please. I knew for a fact they were both out stealing, Mike from SanCo and Nate was probably at least still stealing cable. We were a family of thieves, at least that much I knew.

I resigned myself to my fate and got myself together to take mom to her appointment. After I picked her up at home she rewarded me by keeping up a near constant chatter on the way there.

"Wasn't it so nice to see your brother?" she asked, pulling out her cigarettes.

"Ma, please don't smoke in my car."

She ignored me.

"He's been gone so long. I just love it when we are all home together. I wonder how long he will stay this time; " she continued all while lighting up her cig and taking a puff, blowing the acrid smoke into the dash.

I pressed the window button my driver's side door, rolling down all the windows at once. Another reason I hate driving my mother around. My car smells like bar for days afterward.

"Wasn't it so nice to see him?" she asked again.

"Yeah." I said shortly, keeping my eyes on the road.

"I just hate that he missed your father's funeral."

Oh God. Here we go. She just can't help herself.

"I'm sure he's fine with it ma," I said rolling my eyes.

"They were so much alike, you know? It must have been so hard on Michael,"

What? I hoped I was taking her to a mental health appointment, because I think she might have lost her mind.

"Ma, they were nothing alike. They hated each other!"

"Oh Lizzie, don't say such things! Your father and brothers got along so well, remember all those times working on the car? They loved it,"

"Uh, I remember them dodging the wrenches he threw." I said.

This is my mother, completely delusional. Its like she tries to fix the past by ignoring it, telling us it didn't happen. She prefers to make believe we all grew up in a normal loving home- maybe it just easier on her to remember it that way. I wish I could say the same. There was no easy way for me to remember, just that I preferred not to.

"Well, I'm hoping he will stay at least until this weekend. We're going to have a family dinner on Sunday."

"We are?" I asked, incredulous. We had never had a Sunday family dinner, ever. We hadn't even really had a dinner together since Mike left. Nate and I lived our own separate lives, coming together only when Ma prodded us or tricked us into doing something together. It was easier for me that way. The less family stuff the better in my opinion. I had my own life and my own friends who treated me far better then my family ever had.

"Yes we are. And don't sound so surprised!" mom snapped. "It's going to be very nice!"

Thankfully we had just pulled up to the medical building and mom hopped out, before I even had the car off.

"Ma, wait I'll come in with you." I called out to her,

I shut the car off as she peered down through the window. "No, honey its ok I know you have work to do, you go ahead."

"Well when do you want me to come get you?"

"Oh don't worry about it honey, I'll call your brother." With that she turned and walked away quickly, her flip-flops smacking against the pavement.

She'll call my brother. The brothers that she couldn't call earlier, cause they were busy? Ah! That woman drives me crazy. I bet she didn't even have an appointment. She's going to go right into that office and call Mike or Nate to come get her. This was just her way of inviting me to Sunday dinner.

I shook my head. I should know better. Nothing is ever easy in this family. My only consolation now being that at least one of my brothers was going to sit through the same beautiful car ride with her back home.

As I drove back to my apartment my mind was still on my brothers. Nate and I were a lot alike. We only had two years between us and we got along pretty well. We didn't see each other very much now that we were adults, but I'd still exchange sarcastic text messages with him about mom's antics.

Nate was the one who helped me out when I was desperate. He wasn't great at playing the protective older brother, but I at least knew I could rely on him if I really needed it.

Thinking back, Mike was always the one who protected Nate and me from our father, our mother, even the neighborhood bullies. I remembered one time when Nate when was being picked on by several older kids, and Mike stood up for him -landing one solid punch to the leader kid that knocked him out cold. The other kids just stood there in complete disbelief, their friend unconscious at their feet. Mike always did have a strong right hook, I thought to myself smiling.

I mentally chided myself for thinking about Michael and our past again. It was so frustrating to have all these memories keep forcing themselves upon me. It had been years since I thought about those neighborhood kids. And since dad's death I'd let myself lock away all the memories of him as well. I lived in the moment now, always thinking about where I was going, and not where I had come from. It was the best way I knew to deal.

As I arrived back at my apartment, I couldn't shake the thought of what Michael had been doing at that firm, and what he was doing back in Miami. It had already been over a week since I'd first seen him in mom's dining room, far longer than he had ever stayed home before. The last time it was only two days. I understood why he never wanted to stay, and accepted it, but it was making it that much weirder that he was still hanging around. Something was definitely going on.

I tried to push past my curiosity and suspicion and called one of my best girlfriend go out of for dinner, ready to move on. We went out to eat at one of my favorite Cuban places and had a great dinner but I kept finding myself getting distracted.

Maybe he had been discharged from the army. If he were, why wouldn't he just say so? Unless it was a dishonorable discharge- that might keep him quiet. Maybe he was a deserter- he just couldn't take the killing anymore and disappeared. That'd be like him. Just run away from a problem.

My friend noticed my distance throughout the night and continued to question me about it. I refused to comment. Not even my closest friends know about all my family drama, and even my best friend thinks I only have one older brother. I mean, how do you explain that your oldest brother willing disappeared at 17? And that you hate him for it? Not exactly, an easy topic of conversation.

She eventually got tired of my distance and suggested I go home and get some rest, instead of coming out to a party with her and some other friends. She said I looked tired; maybe I was coming down with something. I knew that she was really just tired of asking me what was wrong.

I let her go and headed back home, angry at myself and at Michael for ruining my night.

As I turned on the television in my apartment, hoping to let the meaningless chatter drown out my inner thoughts, one thing struck me. If I was going to stop thinking about Mike I'd have to figure out what was doing back here. If I knew that he was back for good, I could avoid him. If I found out he was leaving again, all the, better I could go back to my normal life. One way or other I needed to know, all this speculation was driving me insane.

At work the following day, after spending the morning answering polite questions regarding my health after two days of absence, I used the county computers to do a little research on my brother. Working for the county housing authority doesn't give me access to everything, but with a little know how and an access code I've been able to get ahold of necessary documents in the past. It's one of the reasons I have never had a parking ticket.

I searched for records of Michael for most of the day, in between answering phone calls and managing my daily offices tasks. I found almost nothing on him. He didn't come up in any of the housing directories, which meant he hadn't signed lease on any apartment. He didn't have a mortgage, or any type of insurance records. He didn't have a police record, or any court documents. The one piece of information I found on him was his first driver's license, still listing mom's address as his home.

A dead end.

I'd have to come up with another way to figure him out.

It wasn't until the next day that the idea of following Sam came to me. Sam and Mike obviously worked together and seemed to be friends, so it was likely that Sam knew what Michael was up to, or at least where he was living. I decided to have lunch at the Carlito, the restaurant that Sam I had recently met at to exchange the key card. I remembered him being fairly flirty and familiar with the waitresses so I figured he was a regular.

When I arrived at the restaurant, I was surprised to immediately spot Sam sitting a table with both my brother and Fiona. I turned back around, quickly not wanting to be spotted. It took me a moment, but I was able to make my way to the back of the restaurant and enter through the side patio dining space, avoiding them. I kept behind the group, not looking, using only my peripheral vision to keep an eye on them.

I calmly made my way to an empty table that was situated near the door to the patio and sat down, picking up the drink menu that was sitting on the table. I had chosen the seat of the table nearest the open door so that part of my view was obscured by the glass and frame. I was still able to see the group however, Michael and Fiona with their backs to me and Sam sipping on a mojito talking to them.

I couldn't hear what they were saying from where I was, but that didn't matter, the important thing was that I found them. And relatively easily too, I was surprised by that.

I studied the drink menu, casting slow sidelong glances at the group. Sam and Fiona seemed relaxed, both chatting and sipping their drinks. Michael sat up straight, his impeccable posture noticeable once more. I wondered briefly if that was a military thing. Neither Nate nor I had the ramrod posture Mike held, so he must have picked it up outside the house.

The waitress brought me a menu and I perused it, deciding to only order a drink since it looked like the group had already finished eating and might be leaving soon. I planned to tail Michael back to where ever he was staying, hoping it might give me a clue as to how long he might be around.

The waitress brought me my requested iced tea and left me to examine the menu once more.

I continued to watch them from the corner of my eye, regretting not choosing a closer seat. Seeing them was great, but I was anxious to know what they were discussing. Whatever it was, I could see it wasn't making Fiona happy. She scowled into her drink as she sat sipping the straw. She didn't seem like a particularly cheerful woman the first time we met, but seeing her look so angrily at her Bloody Mary was making me nervous.

I glanced away from them, digging into my bag and bringing out my phone, aimlessly scrolling through my text messages and contacts, trying to look inconspicuous.

Their waitress brought over their check, smiling down at Sam flirtatiously. I saw Fiona roll her eyes and stifled a laugh. Mike reached into his back pocket and the same time grabbed the black book that held the receipt. He glanced at the paper, and stood up opening his wallet, Fiona stood with him and Sam finished off his drink. I saw Mike push a small handful of single bills into the book, before setting it back on the table and turning to walk away.

At his turn, I leaned back in my chair, using the wood frame of the door to block myself from his view. The three walked outside and stood chatting momentarily just outside the restaurant. Now that they had moved my table choice wasn't that great, but the wind had picked up and fragments of their conversation floated towards me.

"….ok.. back at the loft…" Michael was saying.

"I'll see…." Said Sam.

That was all I caught before they walked away, each going a different direction. I quickly reached into my bag, pulling out a $5 dollar bill and leaving it on the table. I figured that would be enough to cover the tea, and I wasn't about to wait for the waitress to bring me a check.

I threw my phone in my bag and slid of the restaurant, trying to look casual. I had lost Mike after they left the front of the restaurant, but saw that he headed south- away from the back parking lot where Fiona had gone.

I just caught the backside of his suit jacket, as it turned the corner onto Salita Avenue. I quickly rushed to follow, needing to keep him in sight. When I turned the corner, I spotted him- walking down the street cell phone pressed to one ear.

He paused, standing on the sidewalk and threw his head back in frustration. Ha. I smiled to myself. I knew that one. He was on the phone with mom. No doubt about that horrible Sunday dinner she wanted. It was nice to see he didn't want to go either, although I knew we would both end up there.

Michael walked a few paces before hanging up with mom. The first thing he did when he got of the phone was scan the area around him, as if he was looking for someone.

Maybe he's meeting someone I thought, careful to stay out his line of sight.

I continued to follow him for several more blocks, having to duck behind bushes and walk into random shops several times along the way, as he kept a close eye on his surroundings. He was constantly checking and double-checking the area after every turn he made. I wonder if he knew how suspicious he looked to anyone watching.

I nearly abandoned my little stalker watch when he finally led me down to a more industrial part of town near the water.

Now he's just walking aimlessly, I thought to myself. There's no way there is anything down here.

As he came around another corner, just in front of a vacant looking club called The Warehouse, he froze and turned around, now facing my direction.

I was still nearly a block away, standing behind an old post office box and a telephone pole.

"You wanna tell me why you're following me?" he called out, standing and looking in my direction.

I couldn't believe he had seen me. I'd stayed far away, almost losing him several times, but somehow he still knew.

I didn't move from my spot immediately. He just stood in the middle of the sidewalk expectantly, not saying anything.

I sighed and stepped out to face him. When I did he began walking towards me.

"So, you wanna tell me why you're following me?" he asked again, quickly crossing the distance between us and coming to stand in front of me.

"I'm not following you," I lied reflexively. I don't even know why I did that. I was clearly following him, there would be no other reason for me to be in this area of town, on foot and alone. Sometimes the lies just slipped out easier than the truth.

"You're not huh?" he asked "So you just happen to be walking through the an industrial park in Miami on an afternoon stroll?"

My mind spun to come up with a clever lie to cover my tracks. As I opened my mouth to begin my tale, Mike held up a hand to stop me.

"Save it. Stop following me. Its not safe." He said tersely. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, quickly dialing.

"Who are you calling?" I asked.

"A cab. You're leaving." Mike was on the phone with the cab company in moments, giving them our location.

I sighed, defeated. So much for my plan. We stood in silence while we waited for the cab to arrive.

"What do you mean it's not safe?" I asked suddenly.

Mike didn't look at me, just stared out to the water, his hands in his pockets.

"Like this area of towns not safe?" I asked again prodding. Maybe I could get something out of him and my day wouldn't be wasted.

He tilted his head to look at me. "You know what I mean."

I did know what he meant, but I'd rather hear it from him. Being around him wasn't safe; I got that much- I really just wanted to know why.

I was debating my next line of questioning when the cab pulled up in front of us. He opened the door and ushered me in, handing the driver a folded bill through the window.

"I can pay for my own cab," I called angrily through the window.

Michael just grinned at me, clearly enjoying my irritation.

I gave the driver my address and we were off, Mike still standing on the sidewalk as we pulled away. I slumped back in the seat, tired and annoyed that I was no closer to figuring Mike out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Two days later I stood in my mother's driveway for the second time in two weeks, casserole dish in hand. Like always, I paused before going in, tamping down the memories that had been bubbling at the surface since Michael's return home.

I took a deep breath and as I began to walk toward the steps, the back door was opened for me and my older brother Nate stood there smiling at me.

"Oh good, you brought real food," he said taking the casserole from my hands.

My mother can't cook. She's never really been able too. If it didn't come out of box or from the freezer we didn't eat it growing up. Her best dish was overdone spaghetti noodles in butter. Blech. For my own sake I had made and brought a large chicken casserole, so that I might avoid being subjected to her culinary skills.

Apparently my mother had counted on that, because when I came into the kitchen she called "Dinner's ready!"

She grabbed my still warm casserole from Nate and walked it into the dining room like it was a treasured gift. I rolled my eyes at Nate, who smiled and put his arm around my shoulders, leading me into the dining room.

We walked into the dining room to find the table set for 5, something I hadn't seen in a very long time. I noticed Mike standing behind a chair, Fiona next to him.

Great. I thought to myself, giving her a big fake smile, which she returned with equal fake enthusiasm.

"Come on, let's sit down." Ma said ushering everyone into their seats.

She had laid out water glasses and crackers, letting me know instantly what Nate meant by real food. Obviously if I hadn't brought the casserole we'd be having Ritz for our big Sunday family dinner.

"So bro, how you like being back?" Nate asked. He clearly wasn't as bothered by Mike's suspicious return as I was. Though he was probably just angling to keep on Mike's good side so he could borrow money.

I love Nate, but he has a serious gambling problem. Not only has he lost his own car, but at least two of mine. Not to mention thousands of dollars. It's the main reason he's a thief, he steals to support his habit. I do it more for the business, but Nate's all about the game.

"Its alright," Mike replied, handing his plate to mom, who scooped out a generous portion of casserole onto it.

"Oh Michael, you didn't introduce Lizzie to your girlfriend," Ma said excitedly.

"Not my girlfriend Ma." Mike said shortly. " Lizzie, this is Fiona," he said nodding in her direction.

We exchanged fake smiles once more.

"Fiona is from Ireland, is that right dear?" Ma prodded.

"Yes, outside Belfast," Fiona answered, giving my mother a genuine smile and handing her plate.

"That's just lovely."

"What brought you to Miami?" Nate asked sipping his water, while Ma filled his plate.

"Och, you know, needed a bit of sun- a change of pace. Ireland can be a bit dreary sometimes," she replied her Irish accent lilting as she spoke.

Funny, she sure didn't sound Irish when we met earlier this week. I think I would have noticed that.

"Liz!" my mother snapped, drawing me out of my thoughts, her hand extended to me requesting my plate.

As she put the food on my plate I was glad had doubled the recipe. It wasn't anything fancy, just a chicken and vegetable dish. I hadn't intended it to be the main course, but everyone seemed to be ok with it.

During dinner my mother kept up her constant light banter with Fiona, asking about Ireland, her family, her job, how she and Michael met. By the end of the meal, I almost felt bad for Fi, getting the third degree from mom, but she seemed fine, not bothered at all.

"Well, I told Fiona this the other day, but Michael you know your father's car is out in the garage if you want it." Ma said, picking up her cigarette package and tapping one out.

"What?!" Nate and I exclaimed in unison. Nate was so shocked he dropped his fork, it clattered against the plate, further illustrating our surprise.

That car has been sitting under a load of dust for the last 8 years. She never once offered it to Nate, or me, even when we really could have used it and now she was just going to give it Michael?

"Ma, seriously?" Nate asked, shocked. "We don't even know how long he's gonna be in town!"

I looked over at Michael and he looked equally taken aback.

"You're not serious." I said to mom.

"Of course I'm serious!" she said puffing up " Your father wanted Michael to have it"

"What?!" this time it was all three of us.

My father was not the type of guy to just give you something. If you wanted something you had to earn it, usually by accomplishing some ridiculous predetermined task. He was not really the generous type.

My mother looked around at all of us.

"Your father wanted you to have something to remember him by," she said looking at Michael.

Mike was silent, but I knew he was thinking of the scars running down his cheek. We all had plenty to remember dad by already.

"Why don't you boys go out and take a look and we'll clean up in here," Ma said, beginning to pick up the dishes, her cig hanging from the corner of her mouth.

Michael sighed and pushed back from the table, giving Fiona a pitiful look. She just smiled at him. Nate stood up from the table angrily and huffed out to the garage. Fiona and I began picking up glasses and plates.

"Reminds me of me own brothers," she said smiling to herself, her eyes a little distant.

"I can't imagine having five brothers," I said to her, making an effort "Two was more than enough,"

"It wasn't so bad, " she replied heading to the kitchen, "Taught me howta fight,"

"Oh so that's where you learned those moves huh?" I asked, following her.

"Soma them," she replied coyly.

"So what's with the car?" she asked, stacking the plates in the sink.

I wasn't totally sure I want to tell her. I wondered how much Mike had let her know about our little family situation.

"It was my dad's little pet project. He was always working on it with the boys," I said leaning back against the sink.

Fiona nodded, encouraging me to go on.

"I used to try to help them, but my father would always say it was man's work, and send me back into the house," I continued shaking my head.

At that Fiona scowled.

"Mike said that to me once." I went on. "About the car being man's work. I think I was like 6, it made me so mad, even then, I threw oilcan at him. Hit him right between the eyes,"

Fiona laughed. " Och, Michael. We'll I'm glad to see he's more progressive now."

I nodded.

"Shall we go out and have a look?" she asked.

I nodded and we both walked out the back kitchen door over to the garage, leaving my mother in the dining room straightening up.

We were only about halfway across the driveway when we heard the yelling. Fiona looked at me questioningly. I led her to the garage, where we opened up the door to find my two brothers standing in front of a dirty, dusty, ugly, old black car.

"I rebuilt the entire engine, bro!" Nate was saying, pointing at the car emphatically

"Nate.." Michael began.

I cut him off. "I don't know why you'd want that old thing anyway. We should just sell it and spilt the money."

"No way." Said Nate. "I put a lot of time into that thing."

"Alright." Michael said, digging in his pocket and pulling out a coin. "We'll flip for it."

Nate looked at him cautiously. Mike knew that he wouldn't turn down a chance to make a bet, but I wondered if Mike would really give Nate the car if he won.

"Ok." Nate said, crossing his arms. "Heads."

Mike nodded and flipped the coin, letting it land on the dusty hood of the car. They both peered over, and in a moment Nate stepped back grumbling, angry at the coin.

"Alright, alright." Nate said. "Fair and square. Its yours." He leaned over to Mike and gave him a big hug before walking out of the garage.

Michael seemed surprised by the hug. I was too actually, Nate usually put up more of a fight.

"That wasn't so bad." Fiona commented.

"Yeah…" Mike said, still suspicious. He stood silent for just a moment, before reaching down to touch the back of his pants. Immediately he tossed his head back in frustration "He stole my wallet!" he called, running out of the garage to follow Nate.

That made me smile. This little exchange was the closest thing I'd seen to my normal brother Mike, since he'd been home. It was good to see that he was still there under all that military bravado.

Later that week I was at my apartment working on some new fakes for a client, when I got panicked call from my mother.

"Lizzie!" she hissed into the phone, trying to keep her voice quiet.

"Ma? What's wrong?" I said, my stomach immediately in knots. I'd only ever received a handful of calls like this from my mother and the end result was never good.

"Liz, there are two men here! They're asking about your brother."

Oh shit. Here we go. This wasn't the first time that loan sharks had come after Nate at mom's house.

"Ma, don't let them in, I'm on my way." I said rushing to grab my shoes and bag before hurrying out the door.

I sped over to mom's house; anxious to make sure she was ok. Loan sharks aren't known for being particularly pleasant or patient people, and I wondered how long they would wait before roughing her up to make a point with Nate. Damn him.

I parked my car a few houses down, reluctant to let any mafia types know what kind of car I drove just in case making the point with mom wasn't enough. As I ran down to the house, I felt inside my messenger bag for my gun. While I didn't plan on shooting anyone, I knew I might need it to at least threaten people.

I ran up the front porch steps two at a time, one hand inside my bag on my gun. I burst through the front door expecting to see two or three greasy Italians yelling at my mother. What I found instead was two ordinary looking older guys sitting on her sofa drinking coffee.

They both paused in their drinks to stare at me when I rushed into the room winded.

"Uh… there was a dog.." I said, catching my breath, hoping to explain away my violent intrusion.

My mother stood up from her chair across from the men and came over to me. They were definitely not the mafia types I was expecting. They looked more like insurance adjusters. One was an older white guy, maybe in his late 40s, with thinning blond hair and a moustache. The other a slightly younger, slightly bigger black guy.

"Lizzie! There you are!" Ma said coming to stand next to me.

I studied the men once more. Although they didn't appear to be threatening, I kept my right hand inside my bag and on my gun just in case.

"Liz, this is Harold and Lane." Mom said pointing at the men. "They're from some government something or other."

The each gave me a small wave as she said their names.

"They've been asking me about your brother, Michael."

Mike? Some government something? What in the world was going on?

I took my hand off my gun hesitantly, if they were government types I really didn't need to shoot them.

"You're Michael's sister?" the one identified himself has Harold asked. I nodded, still standing in the middle of the room.

Mom grabbed me by the elbow bringing me further into the living room. She sat down in the armchair, forcing me to lean against its armrest, her hold still on my arm.

"I was just telling them how wonderful Michael is. Just the most perfect son, calls all the time." I looked down at mom and she was smiling her biggest grin. The one I remembered seeing often as a child when people would ask where dad was or how he enjoyed his latest job. I supposed she didn't fully trust these men either, or at least didn't feel like telling them what a mess Michael was, what a mess we all were.

I nodded in agreement, smiling with her at the men.

"So, how often is Michael in Miami?" the guy named Lin asked.

"Can I get you boys some more coffee?" Ma asked dodging his question

"No ma'am, we're fine thanks." Lin said putting his mug down on the coffee table. "When was the last time you saw Michael?"

Ma tilted her head, as if she was really thinking hard.

"Well I guess it was last Sunday…or wait was that Sunday before last? Oh, I get dates so mixed up sometimes." She said laughing, "Don't ever get old boys!"

"What about you Miss Westen?" Harold said "When did you last talk to your brother?"

At this point I decided that if mom was lying, it was in my best interest to play along with her. We'd both sit and lie through our teeth to these men for as long as it took to get them out of the house.

"Oh, just the other day. My garbage disposal was acting up and I called him. He talked me through fixing it so I didn't cut my arm off!" I said smiling at Harold "He's a good brother, always there when you need him."

"Michael is such a good boy, you know he used to write me when he was out of town." Ma said

"And how many guys do you know that do that? Right? " I asked the men, shaking my head.

"You know I saw something on television last week about letter writing, how they said they might get rid of the post offices if people didn't write more letters," Mom said changing topics.

"Really?" I asked, playing along. "They couldn't really get rid of the whole post office system could they? I mean that seems like a lot."

"Well I don't know. You know back in my day, writing a letter was important. It was the best way to talk to people out of town. And boy I remember when checking the mail was exciting, now a days all I get are coupon files and AARP membership things."

"Ma, did I tell you that I got an AARP membership request in the mail last week? I couldn't believe it! I thought for sure it was for the previous renter, but no! There was my name stamped right on the cover."

"Oh Liz, no. Really?"

The two men exchanged looks, obviously getting aggravated with us. These poor men, we could do this all day.

"I know! Crazy people, but if we didn't get mail I'd never get the offer I guess. What do you guys think?" I asked turning slightly to them

"uh.." said Harold, clearly lost in our conversation.

"I mean you guys are government types aren't you? Do you think they would really get rid of the whole post office?" I asked.

"Uh ma'am I really don't know. That's not really my division, I'm just here to get some information," he said, pulling on his tie, like it was strangling him.

"Well I don't know what Michael thinks about the post office, do you ma?"

"Oh well I suppose he likes it. You kids always loved getting packages from your Aunt Caroline, remember?"

"Oh yeah. That was great. Remember when.."

"Uh ladies.. " said Lin standing up. "I'm sorry to interrupt but…uh… we really have to be going."

"Yes," said Harold, pushing himself off the couch and straightening his suit jacket. "We really appreciate your time,"

"Oh of course," ma said standing up and following them as they walked to the door. "It was so nice having you!"

"Yeah, thanks for stopping by!" I called as they walked out the door and mom closed and locked it behind them.

"Well that was weird," I said, sliding down in the armchair as mom gathered up the abandoned coffee mugs. "Who do you think they were?"

"Who knows," she said walking into the kitchen " Your brother never tells me anything. "

Me either. I thought.

"You know we should call him," I called out "Tell there were men here looking for him."

My mother walked back into the room, phone already pressed to her ear, cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

"Michael?" she screeched in the phone. "The disposal is acting up, you need to come look at it…"

She was quiet for a moment, listening to his response.

"Oh well, don't worry about it, I think I could get it, I'm just not sure if its off or not, maybe if I stick my hand down there…"

I could hear Mike's frustrated groan through the phone, and I smiled to myself.

"Don't you look so smug," Ma said hanging up with Michael, "while you're here I want you to look at these new tops I got from the mall the other day. I'm just not sure I like the fit,"

I sank deeper into the chair. I'd much rather been interrogated by those odd guys all afternoon then help my mother with her wardrobe.

Four tortuous outfits later I was relieved to hear Michael come through the back door yelling out for mom. I hurried out of her bedroom and into the kitchen to meet him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked going to the sink to look at the disposal.

I just shrugged, leaning back against the counter.

My mother walked in then, standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands on her hips.

"Michael what's going on?"

Mike was still distracted by the disposal, peeking down into the hole and upon not seeing anything, reaching out and flipping the switch. The machine came on instantly. He flipped the switch down again and his shoulders sagged, the realization that he had been caught in another of mom's traps weighing on him. She's the woman who cried broken appliance, I swear.

"Disposals working, I see." He said, not turning around.

"Michael, I want know why there are strange men coming around to my house asking questions about you!"

Mike spun around to look at us. "There were men here?" he asked, looking at me.

I nodded. "Yeah, two guys. Ma said they were government types."

"Government?" Mike asked mom, his eyes a little wider than normal "What agency did they say there were from?"

"How should I know Michael?"

Mike turned to me, his eyes questioning. I shrugged. I would have told him if I knew. The worried look on his face made me want to tell him the truth about what happened. He didn't have his cold solder mask on; he seemed legitimately concerned about us and what happened.

"Ma already had them inside when I got here," I explained. "Two guys, mid 40s maybe. One a white guy with a moustache, the other a taller black guy. Both of them had on suits, nothing fancy but nice enough."

"What did they want?"

"They asked about you. How often you come to Miami, when we'd last seen you, how often we talk to you,"

"What did you tell them?" Mike asked

Ma stepped in "We said you were the perfect son and brother Michael. That you called all time, even wrote me letters. Helped your sister out, all around wonderful." She said, her tone flat.

Mike looked down, like she had scolded him. He knew it was a lie that she had lied for him.

"Why?" he asked quietly, not looking at her.

"Well it sounded nicer then the truth, didn't it Michael?"

The room grew heavy with silence. I didn't know what to say and obviously neither did Michael. I didn't know that my mother held that kind of resentment toward him for not being around. It was nice to know I wasn't the only one.

Mike's eyes were far away, his lips in a tight line. Just when it looked like he might say something, his cell phone rang.

Quickly digging it from his pocket he said, "I gotta take this."

And then he was gone- out the door and back into his car, leaving me and mom standing in the kitchen, alone again.

I looked at Ma and sighed. That was just like him, to leaving without explaining anything. She walked over to the counter grabbing an ashtray and stubbing out her cigarette before lighting another.

"Well.. " I started.

"It's fine." She said shortly. "You can go too."

I felt bad instantly. She was alone in this house more often than not and even though she drove me crazy, she's still my mother.

"I don't have to…"

"No, Lizzie, its fine. You go. I'm ok,"

"Are you sure? " I asked trying to get her to look me in the eye.

She nodded, not looking at me as she grabbed the ashtray and moved to the sink to wash it out.

"Ok, well call me if you need me." I said walking into the living room and grabbing my bag off the armchair.

As I gathered my things, I took one last look at my mother before walking out the front door. She was still standing at the sink, her back toward me, staring out the window. I wondered what she was thinking.

On the way back to my car all I could think about was my mother and the hurt in her voice and my brother and that distant look his eyes. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why did it all have to hurt us so much? Michael flatly refused to tell us anything about his life-why he'd been gone or why he was back. And now there were strange men were showing up to hassle my mother about it. It just wasn't right.

The more I thought about it the angrier I got. What was he hiding that is so important? Does he think we can't keep a secret? We grew up in a house of secrets, he should know better. If he would just tell us something about what's going on we'd be careful, or we'd at least be prepared when government types showed up asking about him.

It wasn't fair for him to keep us in the dark like this. He might think ignorance is bliss, but I most certainly do not. Mike's little secrecy act had me more than irritated. Now I was bound and determined to figure out what was going on, to protect family and myself.

I mulled over how to figure Michael out for most of the night, so fed up I couldn't sleep. I considered trying to follow him again, but since he was so paranoid I figured that would end quickly. I'd already tried looking for him through the computer databases at work and even my less then reputable contacts hadn't heard of him. It was like he was a ghost.

It was around 3 a.m. that it occurred to me that although Michael might not be in any state computers, maybe Sam and Fiona were. I hadn't tried to look them up last time I was searching for records. If could find a lease or mailing address for either of them I'd at least have a place to start.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next day at work I was back to scouring the Dade County digital archives looking for any hint of Sam and Fiona. It was pretty slow going being that I didn't know Sam's last name and Fiona said she hadn't been in Miami very long. It took hours but I finally snagged a clue that I was almost positive would lead me to Fiona.

It was a complaint report from just a few weeks ago, lodged against a resident of a townhome not far from the Carlito, the restaurant where I had spotted the group. While the complaint only gave the name of the tenant who had advised of the problem, it sure sounded like something Fiona would be responsible for. The tenant reported a series of commotions and what sounded like fireworks coming from near the home and since fireworks are illegal in the county, it was reported. The note ended saying that the resident of the home was advised, but explained that it was only the television and a very good sound system.

Granted I didn't know Fiona that well, but the home was near enough to the restaurant and she sure seemed like the kind of girl who'd be playing with "fireworks". Besides after searching nearly all day, it was the only thing I could find. I figured it was worth a shot. Michael and his friends sure know how to keep a low profile.

I wrote down the address on the complaint and made a mental note to drive by after work.

It took me awhile to find the address when I was driving down the block later that afternoon. Fiona's place, or what I thought might be her place, was in a block of cute white townhomes, somewhat obscured by magnolia trees and foliage. I nearly missed the number on the house, due to an incredibly large leaf.

As I paused at the stop sign just up the road from her place, I spotted a jogger on the opposite side of the street. It was Fiona. She stopped, glancing both ways before crossing the street and heading down toward what I was now sure was her place. I stayed stopped at the sign, watching her in my rear view as she stopped in front of the address I had, stretched and went inside.

I nearly cheered with excitement. I had found her! Finally a lead! I wanted desperately to turn around and drive by her place again, but I didn't want to test my luck. Just knowing where she lived was a victory. Now I could take my time in watching her.

I drove back home in one of the best moods I'd had in weeks. As irritating as Michael's little mystery was, it was also starting to be a little fun. Putting together the clues to learn about him, tracking down his girlfriend with very little information, it made me feel like a real Nancy Drew.

Bright and early the next day I called into work again, claiming illness. I briefly wondered how many more days I could get away with that, but the receptionist was sweet so the thought quickly flitted away.

I knew I immediately wanted to go back to Fiona's, but I was nervous about being spotted again. My last two attempts at stalking had not really gone so well, and I really wanted to up my game.

Since there was a chance she had seen my car yesterday and might be suspicious if the same one was hanging around her house, I thought my best plan of action might be to 'borrow' one.

I learned how to hotwire cars long before I could drive. My father used to make us do it, so he could steal the car and sell it to junk dealers or for parts. Dad would jimmy the lock and then stand outside while we crawled into the driver's floorboard and fixed the wires. He said he wanted us to do it because we were small and not easily spotted by police, but I don't know if that's the only reason. Regardless, it's a pretty handy skill to have and I know we've all used it many times.

I found my 'borrow' car about fifteen minutes into my walk to Fiona's place. It was a nondescript silver ford camery, about 5 years old. It was parked on the street and was an easy grab. I made short work of the electrical system and then made my way out to Fiona's.

I pulled up three doors down on the opposite side of the street, where I could still see her place and its entrance, but just barely. I couldn't tell right away if she was home or not. My question was answered shortly when a little blue Hyundai zipped around the corner and flew into her driveway. She got out of the driver's side, wearing stacked platforms, shorts and a t-shirt, slamming the door smartly as she walked away. I heard, rather then saw, the passenger side door slam as well. I leaned up on the steering wheel to see who the passenger was. I saw just a glimpse of short black hair and the back of a suit and knew for sure it was my brother.

Wow. Lucky day. I had managed to track him down in less than twenty-four hours. Maybe I wasn't as bad at this stalker stuff as I thought.

Three hours later was still parked outside, bored to death, but afraid to leave and miss anything when both Mike and Fi came out of her townhome. Fiona was dressed differently now, wearing black cargo pants and a black tank top, and heavy looking boots. Mike was still wearing his suit, but now carried a large black duffel bag that he stashed in the trunk of Fiona's car. After loading the car, they both got in and began to back out of the driveway. I slid down into my seat, ducking completely as they drove by.

As soon as they had past, and I thought they were a comfortable distance away I turned on the car and began to follow them. Following a car was a lot more difficult than I imagined it would be. And while Fiona didn't drive wildly she did have a penchant for speed that kept me at a pretty good clip behind her. Thankfully her car wasn't that difficult to spot and I was able to keep in range of them.

I followed them south of town to an area I had never been before. When we began to wind down less populated streets, I distanced myself even more. Once even turning off and following them from a side road. I was still on the side road when they stopped altogether, arbitrarily near an abandoned looking building.

The car stopped and turned off. From the side street, I parked my car as well, wondering what in the world was going on. I watched, waiting for either of them to get out of the vehicle but neither made a move. About three minutes later, a very nice black BMW pulled up from behind and parked next to Fi's little blue Hyundai.

I watched as Sam popped out of the driver's side, leaning against the car and making wild hand motions at Mike and Fiona's vehicle. Although I was far away I could see that Sam wasn't dressed in his normal uniform of khakis and an atrocious print shirt. Instead he was wearing a dark, clean-cut suit, and dark slick sunglasses.

I watched perplexed as he checked his watch. Granted I'd only met Sam a handful of times, but he didn't seem like the kind of guy to be worried about being late to something. He seemed more of a relaxed-see where the day takes me type.

Michael stepped out of the passenger side of Fiona's car as she popped the trunk. I couldn't see just what he was grabbing, but when he began to walk to Sam I saw what he had grabbed from the trunk. Two large black guns. I couldn't tell what kind they were from the distance I was at, but they were long barreled shotgun type weapons.

Sam walked around the back of his car to meet Mike as he was handed one of the guns. He took it and tested the feel of it, lifting it up to his shoulder. He seemed to approve and gave a nod to Fiona. Michael opened the backdoor of Sam's car and laid the other gun inside.

At this point Fiona got out of her car and shut the trunk, and the three of them stood in a semi-circle discussing something. The conversation was brief however and before I knew it Fiona had gotten back into her car and whipped it around, returning the direction we had come from.

I watched as Michael got into the passenger side of Sam's fancy car, and as Sam put his gun in the backseat. It was kind of odd to see Sam driving such a nice car. I my mind he was really more of a decrepit old van kind of guy, rather than a BMW or Mercedes type.

The car started up and Sam and Michael drove off in the opposite direction of Fiona, staying on our previous route. I started my own car as well and followed. Oddly Sam's black luxury car was a lot harder to follow than Fiona's. While my biggest problem with Fiona was her speed, my biggest issue with Sam was that his car looked like nearly every other car on the road. It was really difficult to keep my self-imposed distance while not losing them and mixing them up with the several hundred other shiny black cars on the road.

Thankfully I only had to follow them a short distance, only five or seven minutes down the road, before they pulled off into an Auto Body Shop. Sam's car appeared to be in perfect condition, so I was clueless as to why they had stopped at this particular business.

Although I wanted to drive right by the shop and snoop, I decided I would play it safe and park the car a few blocks away and walk over on foot. If Mike had seen the car following him, I didn't want him to get suspicious about seeing it near the Auto Shop.

I found a deserted alley about two blocks down and parked the car there, being careful to wipe down the doors and steering wheel of any finger prints I might have left, just in case. I grabbed my bag out of the passenger seat and began to make my way to the auto shop, deciding it would be best if I could find away to watch from a nearby business.

As I began to get close to the shop I could hear yelling coming from the area. I picked up the pace and unconsciously checked my bag, feeling for my gun. Although I'd never been in this area before, I could quickly tell it wasn't a great part of town. Weeds growing up through the sidewalk and graffiti spray painted on the buildings gave that much away.

When I got to the auto shop, I noted that it had a large storage yard behind the main building. The yard was fenced in by and old chain-linked fence, wavy and loose with age. I walked down and around to near the back of the fence searching for a weak spot to make my way through. Old fences like this aren't even worth trying to climb. It would probably collapse under my weight. It was far easier to walk around the perimeter and find the hole that someone else had most likely made for me.

I walked hurriedly, still hearing the slightly raised voices of men coming from the front of the building. While I couldn't pick any one voice out, I was afraid at least one of them was Michael. I had no idea what he would want from a junky North Miami auto shop, or why it would require such yelling, but I was determined to find out. And determined to help him out if he needed it.

I finally found a hole in the fence, nearly at the back of the yard. It was covered by some overgrown weeds, but large enough that I could shimmy through with no problem. After sneaking through the fence, I ran toward the front of the building, keeping low and watching for any signs of employees or other people around.

I was able to make it to the building with no problem and quietly crept over to the side behind several large stacks of tires. Hiding behind the tires I could see the entire scene laid out before me in the front of the Auto Shop.

Two small clusters of men were standing face to face, with some distance between them. They were both angled somewhat away from me, so I could only see them in profile. I recognized the men in one group immediately as my brother and Sam.

Sam stood slightly behind Michael; his arms crossed cradling the long guns that Fiona had given him earlier. Sam's entire demeanor was completely different then the man I had first met at the bar, or even the man who chided me at the park when I was caught watching Mike. He stood up straight; his face stony, eyes fixed on the men Michael was talking to.

Michael stood slightly in front of Sam, speaking emphatically with his hands. He was still wearing his dark suit, but I noted that after seeing it up close it was a really nice suit. And that he had on a very bright gold watch. I remembered specifically seeing him with a black, army issue watch when he was at the house yesterday. Why would he change watches? Michael wasn't the kind of guy who would worry if his watch matched his outfit.

I watched more carefully. Michael was talking specifically to one man in the group of four men that he and Sam faced. He continued to talk with his hands, gesturing wildly one way, then the other. That was weird. Everything Michael did was smooth and controlled, he was very meticulous in everything he did- even the way he normally moved. It was strange to watch him be so animated.

I drew my eyes away from my brother and Sam to scope out the men they were talking to. One man drew my eye first. He was unlike the other three and was standing slightly away from them, as if he wanted to get away but was afraid to leave outright.

He was a normal looking guy, wearing a striped polo shirt tucked into pleated khakis. The thing that struck me most about him was how uncomfortable he looked. He was sweating, normal in this Miami heat, but he continually wiped his forehead, ran his hand through his hair and shifted position. It was like he couldn't stand still. He kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, glancing back and forth between Michael and the man he was talking to. It was like watching a child who had to go to the bathroom, but didn't want to interrupt the adults that were talking.

Nervous striped shirt guy was standing closest to what appeared to be the leader of the outfit, the guy that Mike was talking to. He was a shorter guy, but stacked with muscles. He could have been a poster for steroid abuse. He wore dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt and had a gun in the back of his pants. He didn't appear to be saying much in response to Michael's statements, but did nod his head a lot.

The two men that stood behind him, looked nearly exactly like him, only with different outfits and slightly taller. They both wore jeans and loose fitting t-shirts with a horrendous graphic art on them. Both of these men however had gun in their hands, loosely held at their sides. The Ed Hardy twins seemed to be only back up for the main guy, who in my head I was calling Mr. Tight Shirt.

As I continued to watch as Michael and Mr. Tight Shirt speak it occurred to me that what I was watching looked like a criminal deal being struck. Tight Shirt and the Hardy boys definitely looked like gangsters or at the very least drug dealers and if I didn't know better it looked like Michael was a supplier or buyer.

The longer I watched the more uncomfortable I became with the whole situation. Michael and Tight Shirt appear to be getting friendlier, closing the distance between them and lightening the tension in the air. Maybe this was what Michael was up to. Maybe drug deals and cartel arrangements was what got him discharged from the army. Mike's friend Sam might be ok with garnering criminal deals with lowlifes, but I was pretty sure Uncle Sam frowned on it.

I've been around and within the underworld long enough to know that what was happening here was more than a simple drug deal or one time arraignment. This was a business meeting, a meeting for something big.

I was suddenly disgusted with what I saw. My entire life my brother had been the good son, the honorable one. Even disappearing for ten years hadn't dampened my mother's view of him as the good one. And while Nate and I both had criminal pasts, and presents if I was being honest, it was always petty things- nothing as serious as what appeared to be going on here.

I let out a quiet sigh as the deep disappointment settled down on me. Michael had told me to leave him alone, told me not to follow him and now I knew why. He wasn't the good older brother he used to be, the brother I wanted him to be. The brother I had hoped against hope would come back to me. Instead I was treated to a cold, calculating, criminal who was striking rich deals with Miami's finest.

I had to fight to keep from crying right there behind the tires. Seeing him in his element hurt, and I realized again why he wanted to keep it a secret. I shook my head, trying to clear away the tears and pain and decided to leave.

Now that I saw what Michael was really doing I could deal with it. Although it hurt to see who he really was to the rest of the world, at least knowing I could protect myself and my mother. If Mike was in bed with any serious players in the city, they would soon know about us. I would need to be prepared to watch my back in my personal life and my business. I'd also have to let Nate know, so that he could stay out of the pocket of some of the more dangerous types.

As I started to creep away from the scene, my hurt was slowly replaced by anger. I would have to protect myself more. And how dare he not tell me about this? It's fine if he wants to do criminal stuff, but he could have the decency to tell the rest of us. Keeping it a secret was far more risky then letting us know. What if some of his business partners approached me or Nate? Michael was being incredibly selfish and thoughtless keeping this to himself.

I had made it back to the weak spot in the fence, my mind spinning and my emotions all tied up. I was so anxious to get out of there; I didn't notice a man following me.

As I went to climb through the fence, he grabbed my arm roughly hauling me back in. The moment he touched me, my heart flew into my throat, shock and surprise blinding my thoughts. I hadn't even heard him; I was so caught up in being upset.

"Where are you going niña?" he asked, pulling me around to face him.

I struggled against his grip, stomping hard on his foot and then kicking him in the shin. He bent over in pain, but didn't release his hold on me. I clawed at his hand, pulling at his fingers, then when he raised back up I swung, punching him hard enough in the jaw that I heard my knuckles crack. He was stunned and loosened his grip momentarily. I seized the moment and ran, but not quickly enough as he grabbed the back of my leg, tripping me and causing me to fall hard on the dirt ground, knocking the wind from my lungs.

Taking advantage of my position he reached down and picked me up again by the arm and smacked me hard across the cheek. I was temporarily stunned by the unexpected blow and felt myself being dragged away from the fence.

Shaking my head to clear the stars that had appeared, I gained enough of my senses to struggle as the man pulled me to the front of the shop. I paused long enough in my fight to notice his ugly shirt and realized he was one of the Hardy boys I'd seen before.

"Jefe, look what I found…" Hardy said, when we turned the corner to where the group was standing.

I looked immediately at Mike and Sam and saw a wave of recognition quickly cross both their faces. I quickly looked away, turning my attention to Mr. Tight Shirt who was now walking towards me, glaring. Hardy boy let go of my arm, shoving me ungracefully toward Tight Shirt.

He came up close to me, eyeing me carefully. I looked back, unflinching, trying my best to remain calm. Wondering if he could see my pulse racing in my neck.

"Who are you?" he asked.

I continued to stare back at him, unsure of what my answer should be. I didn't want to appear scared, so I straighten out my back and loosened my shoulders. At my silence he reached out, grabbing my arm and shaking me.

I quickly smacked his hand off me at the same time Michael shouted "Dammit!"

I had been keeping Michael in my peripheral and he hadn't made a move until Tight Shirt touched me.

"Damn." He yelled out again, as both Tight Shirt and I turned to face him.

He was pacing around, hands flying.

"Clint!" He yelled pointing at the nervous guy "You said this place was closed!"

Tight Shirt was now staring at my brother as he paced back and forth muttering.

"Can't believe this, can't do anything right," he was saying under his breath.

I was confused. Tight Shirt obviously was too, he stood next to me gaping at Michael.

"I was told that this place was closed." Michael said forcefully, leaning into his words "Why is there a girl here?"

A girl? Was this that bad? Bad enough that Michael couldn't let them know we were related?

Tight Shirt turned back to glare at me.

"Who are you?" he asked again, reaching around to his back where I knew he held a gun.

"Mia," I quickly lied.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Tight Shirt asked.

"Do you work here?" Mike asked, pointing at me. I took the hint.

"Yes. Clint told me not to come today," I started speaking quickly, reforming my 'I'm-not-scared-stance' into ' please-don't–be-mad'. "And well.. I forgot my notebook, it's for my class, I couldn't leave it, and well. . I just .. I just saw you guys and you had guns… so .. I .. I tried to run. I was scared"

"Ok" Tight Shirt said, looking away from me.

"I just wanted to get out.. please.. I didn't mean anything… I won't say anything.." I continued to rambling, picking up the pace of my words and jumbling them all together, letting my real fear and adrenaline seep through.

"Ok! Shut up!" Tight Shirt yelled.

He took a step back from me and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was deciding what to do with me. Great. I looked over at Michael, but he wasn't looking at me, he was staring at Tight Shirt.

Michael suddenly stepped forward.

"This is a goddamn amateur hour! I came here to do business, but I can see that I made a mistake. Look, it was good to meet you Omar, but I can't work with people who have such fucking personnel issues," Mike said turning on his heel to walk to the car.

"Wait," Tight Shirt, or Omar as Mike had called him, yelled out. "We can still do business."

Omar nodded over to one of the Hardy boys who stood behind me. I felt him walk up closer to me.

"Get rid of her," he said quietly.

My stomach dropped and the blood in my veins turned to ice at that moment. I knew what that meant. He was going to have me killed. Killed. Although I had wanted to die many times during my father's beatings growing up, I made it through and definitely didn't want to die now- not shot behind an auto shop in south Miami.

"Really?" Mike called out. He had turned back from the car and was walking toward us now.

"Really?" he asked again, waving his arms, " You're just gonna put a bullet in her head and dump her? Jesus!" Mike sighed loudly.

Tight Shirt turned to look at him.

"So? We'll do it down by the water, no problem."

"You have got to be kidding. That's just what I want. A fucking police presence around here. You kill her and they'll be coming out of the woodwork. Chuck, grab her," Mike demanded.

With that Sam stepped forward and quickly walked over, grabbing me by the upper arm and wrenching me away from the Hardy boy.

"What's your plan then?" Omar asked as I was being roughly dragged away.

"I'll see if she can be useful." Mike said not turning around. "If not, I'll dispose of her properly. "

Sam dragged me around to the rear of the car, opening the trunk and unceremoniously shoving me in. I rolled around so that I was facing him and looked up to see an emotion I couldn't read in his eyes. He slammed the trunk closed, leaving me in the stuffy hot darkness.

I wiggled around uncomfortably. I'd never been locked in a trunk before, who knew it was so damn dark? Once I was somewhat settled I strained to see if I could hear anymore of the conversation happening outside.

I really didn't know what was going on, my mind was reeling. I couldn't make out the words, but it sounded like Michael and Omar-Tight Shirt were finishing their conversation.

Moments later I heard the cars doors being opened, and then felt the car shake as they were slammed closed. Then we were off. I tried to mentally follow the route we were taking, but got hopelessly confused after the third turn. Now I was just rolling around in the trunk of Sam's car hot, scared, confused and mad.

What in the hell had I walked in to? While I still thought it was likely a drug deal, with my brother bartering some goods, it seemed strange. Mike wasn't acting like himself and he didn't use Sam's real name. Granted I didn't give my real name either, but that was mostly out of habit.

I was jolted out of my thoughts when the car came to a stop and I was rolled suddenly forward and back again. Now I had absolutely no idea where I was.

I listened as the car doors opened and slammed closed again, and seconds later the truck was opened. I looked up, momentarily blinded by the bright Miami sun to see Michael and Sam staring down at me furiously. They each grabbed one of my arms and hauled me out of the trunk setting me on the pavement.

I looked around and noticed we were in a parking lot, abandoned by the looks of it. I still wasn't sure where we were, but as long it was away from crazy Tight Shirt, I didn't really care.

I glanced back at Michael who had walked away from me, anxiously running his hands through his hair and pulling on his neck. I looked over at Sam who stood next to me, with a frown etched across his face.

I wasn't sure what I should say. Michael looked so angry and frustrated.

Suddenly Fiona's little blue Hyundai whipped around the corner and into the parking lot. She pulled up and flew out of the driver's side, eyes on me the whole time.

"What did you do?!" she yelled, coming to stand beside Michael.

"Look…" I started, but hesitated. I wanted to apologize and explain, but the words stuck in my throat. If Mike at been even a little bit honest we could have avoided all of this.

"I didn't know…" I began again.

"What were you thinking!" Mike yelled at me.

There it was again, that vein, starting to stick out of his forehead.

"What in the hell were you doing?!" he yelled again, taking a step towards me.

I unconsciously took a step back, bumping into the car.

"I told you to stop following me! Are you deaf or just dumb?" he screamed again, glaring at me then whipped around, seemingly too disgusted to look at me anymore.

Tears sprang to my eyes immediately at his words. Are you deaf or dumb? The words rang in my ears and vibrated around my skull. He sounded just like dad. Exactly like him. Dad was forever screaming that at me 'Are you dumb, girl? Damn girl, are you deaf or just dumb?' Always.

Suddenly I had to get out, get away. I couldn't stand to be near Michael for one more second. He was still faced away from me, Fiona at his side.

I took a shaky breath, nearly overcome with emotion and forced myself to yell back at him.

"I'm sorry! But don't worry! I won't be bothering you anymore! You bastard."

At this point, my lungs were threatening to explode, my heart wanted to beat out of my chest and all I wanted to do was run. I just needed to get away as soon as possible.

As I turned to leave the group, Sam put out his arm to stop me.

"Sorry sister, you can't go."

What? I looked up at him pleadingly. Why? Oh why couldn't he just let me leave, why couldn't I just run away from this and forget it all? I just need to be alone so I could cry and think in peace.

I couldn't bring myself to clear my throat enough to ask Sam out loud why I couldn't go, but he seemed to understand my desperate and bewildered look.

"Sorry Lizzie, you're part of this now and we can't just let you wander around Miami with a drug smuggler knowing that you know what he does," Sam said looking at me sadly.

I felt my shoulders sink. I just wanted to melt into the pavement. Suddenly this whole thing was overwhelming, following Mike, getting caught, getting yelled at and stuffed in a trunk and then being screamed at my older brother moonlighting as the ghost of my father. I was just exhausted.

I heard Michael sigh deeply from where he was standing as well.

"Sam's right. You have to stay with us."

I didn't turn around at his words, too afraid that I might cry or try to kill him. My anger and self-pity were weighing pretty equally at the moment.

"We'll meet back at the loft and figure this out," Michael continued.

I turned now, but still couldn't look him in the eye, instead studying both he and Fiona's shoes.

"Fine! But I'm not getting stuffed in that damn trunk again, I'll ride with Fiona." I said, my anger rising up and tipping the scales.

"You sure Liz? " Sam asked, "I think the trunk might be safer."

I glanced up at Fiona as she gave Sam a sneer. Leave it to Sam to break the tension just that easily.

I walked around to the passenger side of Fiona's car as Michael and Sam got back into their car.

"Wait," I called suddenly remembering. They both paused. "What about my car? I had a car at the Auto Shop when I followed you. Am I just going to leave it?" I asked

"Yes." Michael said shortly.

I looked over to Sam for support. He shrugged.

"But its not mine, I borrowed it." I tried again. I would really feel bad if my 'borrowing' of someone's car actually turned out to be me stealing it for real. I had every intention of bring it back before all this happened.

"Borrowed? Or _borrowed,_ Lizzie? " Mike asked leaning against the door frame of the car.

This time it was my turn to shrug, "I wiped it all down before I left." I said.

Michael nodded approvingly, "Then its fine. Don't worry about it." He said turning and getting into the car, shutting the door briskly and ending the conversation.

I sighed and got into the car with Fiona. Great. Not only did I feel bad about getting involved in whatever Michael was up to, but I also felt bad about stealing someone's car. This day was just getting better and better.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

We drove in silence. Fiona kept her eyes on the road and I stared out the window, replaying the day's events in my mind. It all seemed to have happened so quickly and yet watching Fiona and Michael at her house seemed like ages ago.

"What were you doing!?" Fiona asked suddenly, lashing out at me unexpectedly.

I was startled and immediately drawn from my thoughts.

"You almost got yourself killed!" she said.

"How do you know?" I asked, "You even weren't there." I said annoyed that she would be so condescending.

"I was there. You just didn't see me." She said flatly.

We were quiet again for a few seconds.

"You could have gotten yourself killed." She said again then she added under her breath " you almost got Michael killed,"

I turned to stare at her.

"Why would Michael have been killed? He was the one making the business deal." I said skeptically.

"You don't know these men," she mumbled, still not taking her eyes of the road. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into,"

Once again perplexed I turned to stare back out the window. I noticed we were nearing the area by the water, where I had been caught following Michael last week. To my surprise, we followed Sam's car to the exact same vacant looking bar. When Sam stopped in front of the club, Michael popped out of the car and opened a rusting looking gate, letting Sam drive through. Fiona parker her car on the street just outside and we both got out following Michael through the gate as he locked it back behind us.

He led us up a flight of rusty looking stairs, pausing at the landing to unlock an ugly industrial looking door. I wondered if this was where Mike and his friends did all their meetings. Surely they could have found a better office location.

Michael and Fiona walked through the door and I followed with Sam shortly behind. The first thing I noticed about the room was how large the space was. The ceilings were high and wood floors caused every sound to echo. I continued to look around as the group began to wander around the room.

This was not an office but it was more than just a meeting spot. In fact, someone was obviously living here. I had already seen Fiona's place, so it must have been Michael or Sam. There was a mattress lying on the floor, the bed neatly made, and a small lamp on the floor next to the bed. The massive room had a kitchen area on side, if you could really call it a kitchen. It was really just an old refrigerator, a sink and a tall counter that Michael was currently leaning over looking at papers. Fiona sat down at one of the bar stools pulled up to the counter and was eyeing the paper work Mike was looking over.

Near the bed, Sam plopped down in the only chair with a beer he had pulled from the decrepit looking fridge.

I stood still, near the door, taking in the surroundings and unsure of what to do with myself.

I walked over towards the bed and chair where Sam was sitting nursing his beer.

"Sam, you live here?" I asked.

He chuckled, "Nope, this here's your brothers place."

I looked over at Michael, somewhat in shock and he nodded in acknowledgement before quickly looking back to his paperwork.

Wow. Mike's place. I looked around, appraising the entire room. What a dump. The place was sparse to say the least. Besides the bed and chair, there wasn't a stick of furniture around, unless you count the giant wooden spool that Sam was using as a side table. The windows were grimy, the air was dusty, it seemed like the place hadn't been used in a long time. I wonder how he found this place and why in the world he would want to live here.

I shook my head and sat down on the end of his bed. While sparse, the place was at least neat. His bed was made up army perfect with tight neat hospital corners and there wasn't a spare sock or piece of trash anywhere to be seen. It was a lot different from the room that he and Nate shared as kids. If Michael was really dealing or smuggling drugs or even working for a cartel couldn't he afford some place better then this?

Suddenly Sam stood up, having drained his beer and heading to the fridge for another.

"So what's the play here Mikey?" he asked, going behind Mike and opening the fridge.

"We stick to the plan Sam," Mike said as Sam handed him a yogurt. "We still need to join up with Omar to figure out where he is cutting and storing the drugs,"

"Umm, excuse me?" I said standing up and walking over to them, "You said I'm involved in this now right? Then can someone please fill me in on what's going on?"

"Michael is helping a friend," Fi said simply.

"What kind of friend?" I asked curtly, staring at Mike

Michael didn't answer right away.

"Enough with the secrets Michael! I'm involved ok? Tell me what's going on!" I said.

Michael took a breath.

"Do you remember Clint? From the shop?" he asked

I nodded, thinking back to the nervous guy in the striped shirt; that had to be the guy Mike was talking about.

"Clint owns all the Signature Auto Repair Shops in Miami -and Omar, remember him? Well he's been blackmailing Clint into using the Auto Shops as a cover for letting him smuggler heroin and cocaine in the auto grease cans."

I nodded again, taking in Mike's story.

"So why doesn't Clint just stop? Tell the guy no?" I asked.

"These men aren't the kind who take no for an answer. Clint did try to refuse but they torched one of his shops and now they are threatening his family." Mike continued.

"Oh." I said, surprised.

Wow. Mr. Tight-Shirt was more than the little gangster I had originally taken him for. He was bad news, a serious underworld player.

"So wait, how does you buying drugs help this Clint guy? What are you gonna do with cocaine and heroin?" as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was a stupid question, what else do people do with cocaine and heroin? Snort it or sell it.

"I'm not trying to buy the drugs," Mike said. "I just need to know where they are."

I didn't really see where he was going with this, but nodded hoping that it would all make sense soon.

"We want to take Omar down, get him caught with the drugs. It's the only way to protect Clint and his family."

"Yeah, the only problem is that Omar works for la Empresa, so he's just a little fish in a big pond," Sam said interjecting.

"So we have to bring down Omar, without alerting the big dogs," Mike continued.

"How are you gonna do that?" I asked, genuinely interested.

"Well we _had planned_ to strike a deal with Omar, give him a chance to partner up with a high roller, local contact- make him think he had a chance to move up in the company…" Mike started, giving me a stare.

I glanced away, guiltily.

"You know Mike," Sam started, setting his beer down, "We could still make this work. I mean Lizzie here said she worked at the shop, so maybe she's the inside man,"

"No Sam, she'd be on the wrong inside," Fi said. "She'd need to be working for la Empresa, not Clint,"

Sam continued on, " Ok, so she's working for Empresa, Omar doesn't know that his boss didn't send someone to come down a check on him…maybe to make sure he's ready for the move to upper management?"

Mike began to slowly nod in agreement with Sam's idea, "Nice Sam," he said, approvingly.

"Ok," Michael said turning to me, "Are you ready to work for the cartel?"

Several hours later Michael and I were alone in his loft, Sam having gone to see about a 'lady friend' and Fiona running off to a meeting- saying something about semi-automatics and a good deal.

Mike and I hadn't really spoken since they left. I was getting tired of the awkward silence and thought I might try my chances at getting to go home. Sam had said that they couldn't let me wander around Miami, but surely that didn't mean I couldn't go back to my own apartment.

"Ok," I said standing up from the barstool I was sitting on and grabbing my bag off the floor "So what time should I be back here tomorrow?"

Michael looked up at me from the chair where he was sitting, still deeply buried in paperwork.

"Uh, yeah…. You're staying here."

"What? Why? I heard you say we weren't followed. Look, I'll just pick up a car and head home, no big deal," I said, digging through my purse to look for my cell.

"No Liz. You aren't leaving. Its not safe."

"Oh please Michael, I will be fine. Those guys don't even know my real name; they wouldn't know how to find my apartment. I'll be back here whenever you say tomorrow ok?" I said, finally finding my phone and turning to go.

Michael stood up and quickly crossed the room to block my path.

"I don't think you understand. These men are serious and very dangerous. " Mike trailed off, his eyes softening as he looked down at me.

For this first time since he'd been back he wasn't glaring at me. I looked away from him, unable to handle the sadness and concern in his eyes. I swallowed nervously and sat back down on the barstool.

"Ok, fine. But Mike… tell me one thing. Are you really dealing drugs?"

A grin spread across his face quickly and he chuckled, and my blood boiled.

"Don't laugh!" I cried out " I don't know what you do, or what you've been doing and that sure looked like a drug deal to me!"

Michael's grin faded.

"Liz, I don't deal drugs. If I did I'd live in far nicer place than this. I'm just helping out a friend."

"So this is what you do? How you help people? Why don't they just go to the police?" I asked

"Not everyone can go to the police."

Mike didn't elaborate and I wasn't ready to push the issue. He wasn't a drug dealer, or at least said he wasn't and that much was comforting. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he was doing that the police couldn't.

"Can…. I make a cup of tea?" I asked.

"Sure." He said, standing up and walking around the counter into the kitchen. He pulled a coffee mug from the sink and set it in front of me and rummaged through his cabinet coming out with a handful of loose tea bags, which he dumped into a pile on the counter.

"Fi left these... not sure what they are…"

I picked through the pile and pulled out the one I though most resembled black tea and dropped it into the mug. Michael gathered up the remainder and shoved them back into the cabinet. He then grabbed the kettle off the stove and filled it with water before putting it back on the burner.

"I could have done that." I said.

Michael just shrugged.

We were both silent again listening to the eye of the stove heat up. I sat, lost in my own thoughts absentmindedly running a finger around the rim of the coffee mug.

"You used to be pretty good with one of those things..." Mike said quietly, nodding down at the mug and drawing me back from my thoughts.

I looked down at the mug, a smile playing on the edge of my lips.

"Yeah I remember the first time." I said, thinking back, "I was standing in the kitchen watching dad come after you- I just picked up the closest thing and chucked it at him,"

Michael chuckled "Knocked him square in the back of the head. Pretty good aim for an eight year old,"

I smiled, remembering my brief feeling of 8-year-old victory.

"You should have seen his face," Mike continued, smiling.

Suddenly I began to remember the rest of the scene and I felt my smile fade away.

"Yeah I did…. When he turned around and came at me," I said with sigh.

Michael's smile faded away as well. We were quiet again, both of us lost in the memory of that day. Although I didn't remember what Michael did to make dad so upset, I couldn't forget the sharp sting of his hand against my cheek. Even many years later the memory was vivid and painful. Thinking of dad brought my thoughts back to Michael and what he had said to me earlier in the parking lot.

"Mike?" I asked, breaking the silence between us. "Do you remember what you said to me today? In the parking lot?"

He looked at me questioningly, tilting his head to the side.

"Right after you pulled me out of the trunk? Do you remember?"

I was quiet again, waiting. Did he even realize what happened? Did he even know what he said?

I watched a look of recognition slide over his face as he remembered the words he had so angrily spat at me. He looked away, guilty and embarrassed. He sighed and stood up from his leaning position against the sink, running his hand through his hair and pulling at his neck.

"I…." he started.

I cut him off, the remembered hurt and humiliation making me viciously angry all over again.

"I'm not dumb Michael." I said firmly. "I'm not."

Mike looked at me with sad, guilty eyes.

"I listened to that crap my entire life, but I am NOT dumb. I put myself through college! I own my own business! What do you do except take orders!?" I yelled, getting riled.

"Liz.." Mike started, putting his hands up defensively

"No Michael. DON'T ever EVER say that to me again. EVER. I am NOT dumb. I'm not!," I cried, my voice wavering a little by the end of my declaration.

"I know you aren't dumb Lizzie," Michael said coming the counter where I was sitting. "You are not dumb. I know that. You never were," He leaned forward across the space, putting his hands on mine around the coffee cup I was gripping within an inch of its life.

I felt tears spring to my eyes at his words and I couldn't look him in the eye, although I could feel him begging me to look at him.

"You didn't even hear yourself, did you?" I asked, still staring at my mug.

Michael didn't respond, still keeping his hands wrapped around mine.

I jerked my hands out of his grasp, tears threatening to spill over. I turned away, not looking at him. "I don't think I want tea anymore, thanks." I whispered. "I just want to go to bed,"

"You can stay in my bed, there's a couch up there in the loft," he said.

"No, its fine," I said, making my way to the metal staircase that led up to the loft area.

"Liz?" Michael called out as I took the first stair.

I paused not turning around.

"Do me a favor and sleep in those clothes? We need you to look messed up tomorrow, you're still a hostage,"

I nodded and the continued up to the loft, finding a leather couch across from an old desk and computer. I sat down on the sofa and sank back into the cool leather, wishing I could be anywhere but here.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

I woke up the next morning to the sounds of Michael grunting in exertion downstairs. I sat up on the couch, leaned over the metal banister and peeked down to find Michael doing push ups on the bare floor, the thin sheen of sweat covering his shoulders.

I stood up, stretching and rubbing my eyes. I began to straighten out my shirt, but then remembered Michaels request last night about looking "messed up". I rolled my eyes and headed downstairs.

"Morning," I said walking across the room and going to sit on one of the bar stools. Michael finished his rep and stood up, breathing raggedly.

"You do that everyday?" I asked.

He nodded, walking over to the workbench under the window and grabbing a towel to wipe his forehead. He obviously kept his body in pretty good condition. As he stood before me in a pair of gym shorts and sleeveless shirt, I could see the definition of his arms and the strong, tight chest beneath his shirt. Michael was never a big guy, more tall and slender. Looking at him now I would be willing to bet there wasn't an inch of fat anywhere on his body. He seemed to be all hard, lean muscle.

"You want some breakfast?" he offered, walking around into the kitchen "I've got yogurt."

"Uh no, I'm ok. I'm not much of a breakfast person,"

Mike shrugged and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge, a spoon from a drawer and dug into his breakfast.

"So when does this plan of yours get rolling?" I asked.

"This afternoon" he said, swallowing a large bite of blueberry. "Sam and I are meeting Omar to talk details,"

"And me?"

"You're coming along. Omar's gonna meet the inside man."

I nodded, trying to imagine in my mind how this whole situation would play out. I wanted to believe Mike when he said everything would work out and that I would be fine, but I was nervous. I generally try to avoid the hard-core criminal types. I don't want to have any reason to hang around with them since friendships with those guys seemed to be very brief.

Coming back to myself, I looked up to see Michael staring at me.

"You're gonna be ok." He said simply.

I nodded again, taking a breath and pushing back my worry. Like Sam said, I was apart of this now, I'd just have to man up and deal with it.

"Ok, so how's it gonna go down?" I asked.

Michael finished his yogurt and tossed the empty container into the trash.

"You, me and Sam will meet Omar and his boys this afternoon. I'll talk to Omar, let him know that you are actually working for his boss Ramirez, and that you were sent down to check up on him."

I nodded following along. It all sounded good so far.

"Hopefully Omar goes along with it all and he sees the opportunity to make a deal with me. We'll have access to the drug house and Omar's business plans. Then it's just a matter of calling the DEA to come clean up the mess,"

"Oh, that sounds pretty good. How are you going to make sure Omar does what you want?" I asked, intrigued by Mike's plan.

"I can be pretty persuasive." He said

"So…. you are really doing all this just for a friend?" I asked as Michael walked over and began straightening up the stack of papers next to his bed.

"Yes."

"No way." I said shaking my head. "This is way too much, way to dangerous to do for just a 'friend', I bet you don't even know this Clint guy that well,"

Michael didn't say anything, just continued to stack documents.

"Come on, Mike. You said you weren't dealing, are you taking a cut of Omar's business? Knocking out the competition? What is it? No one takes on this much danger for a 'friend'"

Michael turned to look at me and then looked away.

"It's a job, Clint's paying us."

"Oh!" I said, now it all made sense. I'd heard of ex-military types doing bodyguard work, so that made me feel better. I was really glad to know Mike wasn't involved in the seedy underworld of Miami.

"How much?" I asked, curious.

"That's not important." Mike said taking his stack of documents over to the workbench near the front door.

"Umm it kinda is. Fiona said those guys could have killed you. Hell, they wanted to kill me. How much are you doing this for? And hey... I'm helping your friend too you know. "

Michael paused at the workbench and turned to look at me, incredulously.

"_You _put yourself in this situation. _You _weren't supposed to be involved " he said eyeing me.

"Ok, ok. Yes. But I'm having to take time off work here, couldn't I get a little compensation?"

"Liz."

"Michael."

We were both silent for a moment, staring at each other.

"We'll see how it goes." Mike said yielding.

"Fine with me." I said smugly. "You know, this is a lot of work for a paycheck. Why not just get a real job?"

"I don't want to talk about this Lizzie," Michael said turning away from me again.

Oh here we go again, I thought. More secrets.

"Come on, Mike. You're risking you life here." I asked, watching him as he paced around the room, moving papers and picking up items distractedly.

"We're not getting into that right now Liz." He said firmly.

I was kind of enjoying seeing him get riled up. He wasn't angry, just annoyed. It was fun irritating him.

"Well, Mike if its resume problems I can help you there. I'm really good at that kinda stuff, in fact….

"Liz! Drop it." Mike exclaimed suddenly, dropping a handful of papers on the workbench.

I bit my lip in attempt to keep from grinning outright. I was determined to eventually find out more about my brother, even if I had to irritate him to death to do it.

"We need to talk about today," he said.

Just then, the front door was flung open and Fiona came prancing in. She wore short capris and plain tank top, but four inch stacked platforms. How she was able to walk in those things I'll never know. I love a good pair of heels, but my everyday wear is flats no question.

She walked over to me silently and stood directly in front of me at arms length. I was puzzled and a little hesitant as to what she might be after. She reached into her bag, which was draped around her waist and pulled out something. I leaned back out of instinct before I saw what it was.

A toothbrush. A peace offering.

She smiled at me and I smiled back, grabbing the toothbrush. Thank God. I looked over at Michael who nodded his head toward the back of the room, indicating a bathroom. I slipped off the barstool and made my way back to the bathroom, happy that I would at least be able to feel a little fresh today and happy that Fiona wasn't furious with me anymore.

When I returned from brushing my teeth, I found both Michael and Fiona both standing in the kitchen area. I walked over, setting my toothbrush down on the counter.

"Thanks." I said earnestly to Fiona.

She gave me a soft smile in return.

"Lizzie, we need to talk about the meeting today," Michael said.

"I'm ready for it Mike, I can do it."

"I know you can Liz." He said, "But it's not just that…"

I looked at Michael curiously. His tone of voice was different; he was no longer big brother being bothered by little sister, talking about work and breakfast. Something had changed. He was cold, distant - official. He stood, holding the same statuesque posture he held in Ma's dining room when I first saw him. I was instantly back on my guard. I stood straighter, adjusting my posture to mirror his, putting aside my own casualness.

"What?" I asked.

"Omar knows that we took you as a hostage." He began "He's not going to believe that you just told us that you were working for Empresa. We have to make it look like we forced you to tell us,"

"Like you interrogated me?" I asked.

"Yes," Mike said, walking around the corner of the counter towards me. I took half a step back away from him in response.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked suspiciously.

From behind Michael, Fiona piped up "You have to get roughed up." She said plainly.

I looked at Michael cautiously. He stood very still in front of me about two feet away. I angled myself further away from him.

"Like with make-up right?"

Michael shook his head.

"You're joking." I said, taking another step back.

"Make-up won't stand up to close inspection Liz. I wish there was another way, but there isn't."

I could feel my pulse start to race. He was gonna hit me.

"Lizzie, calm down." Michael said, picking up on my tension.

I didn't move, just stood staring at him.

"I'm calm." I lied, trying to get control over adrenaline that had begun to race through my body. "I just don't want you to hit me."

"We have to make it look real," Fiona said, "Omar is tough, and so is everyone else in la Empresa. Information isn't free, if you were really working for them we'd have to beat it out of you,"

I swallowed nervously, '_beat it out of me'_? What was I doing here? What were they thinking? I glanced a Michael, who had not moved at all, still standing like a stone in front of me, his face void of any emotion.

Fiona continued on "You got yourself into this Liz. You can take a few hits and help us and Clint out or you can run and we'll try to cover everything but trust me, it's easier this way,"

She was right. I had gotten myself into this mess, and complicated things for Michael and his friends. I probably deserved a beating for that alone. I knew dad would have obliged me one.

"It won't be that bad," Fiona added lightly.

I scoffed. "Beating it out of me? " I asked, "yeah it doesn't sound that bad."

"We aren't going to beat it out of you," she said coming to stand next to Michael, "Jeez, it would only be bruised cheek, and bump on your forehead,"

I again looked at Michael for reassurance. He gave me a small nod. Although he still work the mask of cold distance, I could see in his eyes a deeper inner turmoil.

I thought it over briefly, but really two hits? That was nothing. Fiona was right, not really a big deal. Sure it would hurt, but not for long and it would be one of the lesser beatings I'd ever taken in my life.

I took a deep breath and sighed. "Yeah ok. "

I shook my head, not even believing that I just agreed to letting my brother smack me around. I eyed his fist, wondering just how much it was going to hurt when he creamed me. I dreaded that sharp right hook of his.

Suddenly he turned away, walking back around the counter and into the kitchen.

"Where you going?" I asked confused.

"Fi?" he said, his voice still emotionless.

Fiona stepped forward, positioning herself directly in front of me. Fiona was small; maybe 5'4 barefoot, but her stacked heels brought her right up to my level. I eyed her warily. She might be small, but I remembered her quick strength from our first meeting in the park, this girl was tough.

"Alright, let's get this over with huh?" I said, glancing down a Fi's hand.

I watched as she shook out her hand and then made a fist. She looked at me expectantly. I gave a quick nod and instantly felt her fist connect with my cheekbone. The force snapped my head around but didn't cause me to stumble. It was a solid hit, heavy with her strength behind it. I closed my eyes, letting myself absorb the pain, feeling it begin to radiate from the area. I touched my hand to my cheek gently, opening my eyes to look at Fiona. She stood calmly in front of me.

I took deep breath and gave her another quick nod. This time the blow was not instantaneous, but carried more heft. Her small fist hit me hard just above my eye, her sharp knuckles cracking the skin. I stumbled back away from her upon impact, bending over to catch my breath. That one hurt.

Blinking hard to clear my head and manage the pain, I stood up slowly and looked back at her. Fiona was again, calmly standing before me, awaiting my response.

"Yeah. Ok." I said, shaking my head again. The left side of my face was throbbing in time with my pulse. I was going to have some very nice bruises to show off to Omar this afternoon.

I glanced over to the kitchen to look at Michael, but didn't see him. As I looked around the room I noticed him leaning against one of the open balcony doors, his back to Fiona and me. Guess he didn't want to watch that whole scene.

"Mike?" I called out.

He turned around at my call and strode over to me. Fiona had backed off, going into the kitchen and pulling out a yogurt from the fridge.

Michael came and stood in front of me, surveying the damage Fiona had caused. He lightly touched my chin, turning my head into the light.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," I said lightly. Trying to break the tension and reassure Mike. I could see that his practiced face of impassivity was wavering and it made me uncomfortable. "Really, I'm fine. I've had way worse."

At those words, Michael seemed to internally flinch and dropped his hand from my face and turned away.

"She's fine, Michael!" Fiona called. "I wouldn't really hurt her."

Michael walked over to his workbench and opened one of the drawers pulling out a bottle of aspirin and tossing the bottle to me

"I am fine," I said again. "Really."

Fiona handed me a glass of water and I swallowed the pills, happy to have them. I really was fine, but damn it still hurt.

"Will you be ready for Omar?" Michael asked.

"Of course." I said, feeling confident. I'd forgot how much taking a punch could light a fire in me. It made me right for getting even, for proving something. If I could take punch, I could take anything that was thrown at me. _Bring it on Omar_, I thought.

"You have to sell it," Michael said,

"Oh please!" I said, relaxing onto one of the barstools. "I'm a Westen- just like you- they don't make better liars,"

Michael smiled at me then and I grinned back at him, causing the newly formed bruise on my cheek to throb.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Two hours later Michael was dressed to the nines in his gangster get up, shiny shoes and tacky gold watch included. I learned that he told Omar that his name was Tommy Dewalt and that he and Chuck, that is Sam, were mid-level heroin dealers from Tampa looking for a new Miami connection. Fiona, I learned, was also attending the meeting, but like before she wouldn't be seen and would be providing cover in case something went wrong.

I was sitting on the edge of Michael's bed playing with my cell phone and half-listening to Michael and Fiona discuss the plan when Sam walked in.

"Finally Sam," Fiona called out to him as he walked into the room.

"Hey beauty like this takes time," he said, pulling on the lapels of his suit jacket and strutting over to Mike and Fi, who both rolled their eyes in response.

Sam was dressed again, not in his usually Sam get up, but back in the dark navy suit of Chuck, his cover. I didn't know why he didn't wear suits every day, he easily pulled them off and it was much more attractive then those awful print shirts he loved so much.

As Sam walked over, Fiona handed him a long barrel, shot gun looking thing and then handed Michael a small hand gun, which he tucked into the back of his pants.

Michael then walked over to his workbench and grabbed a white zip tie off the table, before walking over to me. "Here," he said coming to stand in front of me.

I was confused and didn't move.

"Come on," he said, gesturing for me to stand up.

I stood slowly and he grabbed my wrists, quickly zip typing them together. _Oh the hostage thing_, I thought. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Alright, let's go" Michael said to Fiona and Sam. The two gathered their guns and we all headed out the door and down the rickety metal staircase, Michael's arm on my elbow. I wanted to shrug him off and tell him I could walk on my own, but having my hands tied was a bother and I really didn't want to fall down the stairs.

When we got down to the landing, Fiona continued out, presumably out to her own car parked on the curb and Sam opened the trunk to his car. I paused. _Not again_, I thought.

"Really?" I turned to ask Mike

He nodded and gently pushed me towards the trunk.

"Oh this day just keeps getting better and better," I said.

Sam finished putting his gun in the back seat of the car and came back around to the trunk.

"Hey sister! I've been in here before; it's not so bad! One of the roomier trunks on the market," he said smiling at me.

I rolled my eyes and attempted to gracefully get into the trunk, which was a challenge with my hands tied in front of me.

"You know," I said once I was somewhat settled in the trunk, "If you are trying to send me a message about following you- message received- I'm done."

Michael and Sam both grinned down at me.

"One last thing," Michael said, reaching down beside me and pulling out a roll of duct tape.

"Oh no! No way Michael! Don't do it! I'm not planning on saying anything. Don't you dare! Mic-" my outburst was cut short when Michael quickly placed a torn piece of duct tape over my mouth.

"Trust me, its easier this way," he said.

I glared at him, wishing he would just burst into flames. Looking over at Sam he nodded in agreement. I gave him a death stare as well.

"MMPH!" I yelled, muffled. Michael gave me a smile and gently closed the trunk. I kicked the side of the trunk hard in frustration. _Grinning Bastard,_ I thought to myself.

Soon the car started up and I was bumping along as we drove. I tried to mentally map where we were going, but got hopelessly confused after the third or fourth turn. Being locked inside the trunk was completely disorientating and made me realize why criminals might do it. My sense of direction was lost inside the pitch black of Sam's trunk.

When the car finally stopped, I listened carefully waiting for Mike and Sam to get out of the car. The doors didn't open immediately as I expected, and my mind began to spin with possibilities. Was this a stop along the way? Did Omar not show up? Did someone else show up instead?

Finally I heard the sound of both doors being opened a closed and I strained to hear anything from outside. I could hear muffled tones of people speaking, but I wasn't able to make out any words, or even who said them.

I was nervous. My stomach was twisted in knots and tried to remember what Michael had told me about being calm. Before I had been worried about what I might say to this Omar guy when he asked about Empresa, but now…well I guess Mike had taken care of that.

I closed my eyes and tried to think about what I might be walking into. I knew that Omar would be there along with Mike and Sam and probably some of Omar's backup guys. And that everyone was armed. Thinking about all those guns made me nervous again. Yes I own a gun and know how to use it, but I've never been in a shoot out before. And I've definitely never been anywhere where everyone else was armed and my hands were literally tied. My particular brand of petty-crime doesn't require a great deal of ammo. People who come looking for counterfeit documents might have guns but they are usually the type to think first and shoot second- Drug lords, not so much. _This Clint guy better appreciate what going on here_, I thought to myself.

I was drawn from my thoughts by the sound of the lock releasing on the trunk. I squinted my eyes; ready this time to be blinded by the Miami sunlight.

Sam opened the trunk and leaned down, grabbing my arm to pull me out.

"Showtime," he whispered as he helped me out onto the pavement.

I didn't look at him, taking the time instead to look around my surroundings. We were the parking lot of a run down, vacant looking industrial building. There were two large black SUVs parked some distance away, each with a driver wearing dark sunglasses sitting at the wheel. Michael was standing to my left, a group of four men facing him about three feet away. The man I remembered as Omar was standing in the middle. The other three men, two of which I recognized as the Ed Hardy boys from yesterday stood slightly behind him. All of the men held guns, although they were not aiming them. So it looked to me like while they weren't openly hostile toward old' Tommy Dewalt and crew, they were trusting yet either.

Before I realized it, Sam was pushing me forward to the group. I pushed back against him a little, not wanting to appear over eager to do as he wanted. He continued to push me, using the back of his long barrel gun until I stood just in front of Michael and between the groups of men. I did not like the feeling of standing helplessly between two groups of very heavily armed men. When Sam seemed happy that I was where he wanted me to be, he pushed down hard on my right shoulder, forcing me to my knees.

"Omar, you are just gonna love this," Michael said from behind me.

I kept my face impassive, taking a cue from Michael. I fixed my eyes on Omar, waiting for his reaction. He looked unamused by Mike's words, but not uninterested.

"Turns out, this one is quite the chatterbox," Michael said coming to stand closer behind me, "Told us some very interesting stories. Did you know that your boss Ramirez was spying on you?"

I watched as Omar's eyes flickered, but his body betrayed none of the surprised I guessed he probably felt. Omar's bodyguards however, were not as secretive with their reactions though. They were obviously startled by Mike's accusation and looked back and forth between their group for confirmation.

"That's right. Apparently Ramirez thought you might be ready for a move to upper management my friend! He sent little Mia down here to make sure."

At the mention of my name Omar's eyes focused on me. I gazed at him steadily. My stomach was twisted in knots and I was trying to will my pulse to slow down, but I kept my face calm. Omar studied me a moment longer before returning his gaze to Michael.

"She told you this?" he asked Mike.

"Well it took a little convincing…" Michael said nonchalantly.

"How do you know she is not lying?" Omar asked, his eyes returning to mine.

"She also mentioned some of Ramirez's other financial interests. Hotel Kono? The Spano? Sound familiar?"

Omar looked hesitant.

"She said Geraldo sent her down on Ramirez's order. Said she was supposed to look after the stamp,"

At the mention of the stamp, instant recognition flashed across Omar's face.

"Now that don't mean anything to me…" Mike continued.

Omar moved to grab something from his pocket and I heard the click of a gun being cocked behind me. Omar's men heard it as well and each raised a gun in my direction.

"Relax, Chuck," Mike was saying, "Omar's not that stupid. He's just getting his phone." I watched as Omar's men slowly lowered their guns, each looking warily over my head at Sam and Michael.

"You gonna call Geraldo?" Michael asked.

Omar ignored him.

"You shouldn't do that," Michael said.

Omar continued to ignore him, instead focusing on scrolling through his phone.

"I'm telling you that's not a good idea. What are you gonna tell him huh? That you found his little scout and then let her get kidnapped? Huh? All cause you don't know when to make a deal?" Michael said.

Omar froze and turned to glare at Michael. They stood staring at each other for a moment, the tension palpable.

Omar suddenly laughed loudly, throwing back his head and grabbing his stomach. I was startled. His laugh was completely unnerving, and not just to me- his backup buddies looked completely confused as well. They stood staring at him, looking just as bewildered as I felt.

"My friend!" Omar called out, gesturing at Michael. "My friend Tommy is a comedian!"

I was dying to turn around to get a look at Mike, but I didn't dare move. The tension the air was still thick.

"My friend does not kidnap people!" Omar said, walking toward Michael and me. "Tommy, I appreciate you watching little Mia for us, that was kind of you," Omar continued, all traces of laughter gone from his voice.

"What are friends for?" Michael deadpanned in return.

Omar took another step toward me closing the distance.

"Uh-uh Omar, We're not done talking," Michael said taking a small step forward so that his legs were nearly touching my back. "You wouldn't want your boss's scout to get hurt would you?"

"You and me are more than just friends, my friend," he continued. "We're business partners,"

Omar's eyes narrowed and his expression was hard.

"We're partners aren't we Omar?" Michael asked again.

Omar said nothing and I heard the click of a gun right behind my left ear. I soon felt the hard steel being pressed into the side of my head and I leaned away instinctively. My breath was ragged now, the strain of the moment overcoming me. I leaned further away from Michael, needing to get away from the gun. Michael grabbed a fist full of my hair with his other hand, pulling me back and forcing me to look up at Omar.

I knew then that this was my moment to sell it. I had a gun to my head and I needed Omar to want to save me. I squealed behind the duct tape, pulling away from Michael and begging Omar with my eyes. _Please, please, please,_ I thought, pleading with him.

Omar stared down at me, indecisive. I struggled against Mike's hold again and gave him another pleading looking. Omar looked back up at Michael, his eyes hard. He obviously didn't like being pushed around.

"Of course, Tommy," he said through clenched teeth.

Mike immediately let go of my hair and I felt the gun being taken away. I let out a sigh of relief.

"Good! I thought so!" Michael said.

I looked up at him to see a grin plastered across his face.

"I'm telling you Omar! You and me are gonna make a lot of money! Who knows?! With my help you might even be running your own show soon!"

"Yes, well we will see," Omar said, still not pleased with the situation. "Now give me the girl and we can talk terms."

Oh crap. I hadn't considered that. Omar did want to save me. The heroin dealer wanted to save me from this obviously crazy other heroin dealer.

"We thought we'd keep her," Mike said, grabbing my upper arm and hauling me to my feet. I turned in his grasp and gave Omar a panicked look.

"She's of no use to you," he said glaring at Michael.

"Oh I don't know about that," Michael said. "I think she'll be good insurance, just until we make the final arrangements for our… _merger._"

Omar was silent, still glaring at Michael. I glanced between them unsure of what was going to happen next.

"Besides, she's so chatty! We're learning so much!"

I made my eyes wide and shook my head at Omar, trying to show him that I wouldn't talk anymore. I could see that Omar was barely containing his rage. He clenched and unclenched his fist, looking like he was ready to strangle Michael.

"Now, don't get upset Omar." Michael said noting, Omar's stress level. "You'll get her back, and Geraldo and Ramirez will be none the wiser. I just want to make sure our deal goes through clean and that we can trust each other."

Omar seemed to calm down a little and took a small step toward us.

"Fine, if we trust each other then I trust there will be no more of this..." Omar said bringing a hand up to point at my cheek.

"No problem, Omar. We'll bring her back good as new!" Michael said grinning. He released my arm and gave me a gentle shove back toward Sam.

Sam stepped forward and grabbed my wrists by the zip tie and led me back to the car.

"Put her in the back seat," Michael called out, still looking at Omar.

_Oh thank god!_ I thought to myself as Sam opened up the back door and I hurried to climb inside. I watched through the back window and Omar and Michael finished their discussion. Moments later I watched as Omar and his men retreated back to their SUVs and Michael and Sam joined me in the car.

"Not bad there Lizzie," Sam said once we were on the road and out of sight of Omar and his gang.

I rolled my eyes. Michael turned around from the front seat, reached back and pulled the duct tape off my lips.

"Ouch!" I cried, bring up my still tied hands to rub my now stinging face.

"Sorry," he said, before turning around to dig through the glove compartment for something.

"So that went well then I guess?" I asked, still rubbing my face.

"Well we're in bed with the drug cartel and they'd like to kill us," Michael said not turning around.

"Yup, it's all going according to plan," said Sam, smiling at me in the rear view mirror.

Digging through the glove compartment, Michael pulled out a small penknife and turned back around to me, gesturing for my hands. I stuck them out towards him and he easily cut through the zip tie releasing me.

"You did good Lizzie," Michael said, not looking at me.

"Yeah well I had a gun to my head," I said nervously laughing. Sam chuckled and grinned at me again in the mirror.

Just then Michael's cell rang, "Yeah Fi?" he said answering it. "Ok good, we can track it back at the loft. " he said and then hung up.

We drove back to the loft, Sam keeping the feeling in the car light by talking about his weekend plans with his newest lady friend. He seemed to be able to sense that things were still tense between Michael and me and I was thankful that he took the lead in the conversation. Long silent car rides were one of my least favorite things.

When we got back to Michael's loft we walked in to find Fiona sitting on Mike's bed, her laptop set up before her.

"There you are. What took so long?" she asked.

"We had to make a stop sister," Sam said holding up the two six packs he insisted we stop for on the way back.

Fiona rolled her eyes and looked back to the computer. Michael took off his suit jacket, tossing it on the workbench before walking over to her to look at the computer. Sam already had his jacket off and was headed to the kitchen to put away his spoils, an open beer already in hand.

I smiled and went to sit at the bar, waiting for Michael and Fiona to tell me what they were looking at. After a few minutes of them murmuring to each other I got curious.

"So?" I asked, causing them to look up.

"Fiona planted a tracker on one of Omar's cars so we could see where he keeps the drugs." Michael explained.

_Hmm. Good idea._ I thought, nodding approvingly.

"So far though, it looks like they are just out making drops. Sam can you keep an eye on this? Fi and I need to go talk to Clint, calm him down and let him know where we are," he said walking over to the counter were Sam and I were.

"What about me?" I asked.

"You stay here." Mike said. "And stay out of trouble," he added harshly.

I rolled my eyes. Michael could be such a hard-ass sometimes.

Fiona brought over the computer, setting it down on the counter between Sam and I. On the screen was a map of Miami and like I expected a dot representing the car Fi had bugged. Michael put his suit jacket back on and he and Fiona were out the door. I stared at the computer. Omar's little dot had started to move on the map, showing that he was traveling again. I watched for a few minutes as it drove down Biscayne Boulevard.

"How long will it take for him to go to where the drugs are?" I asked

Sam shrugged. "Don't know. We just have to keep an eye on him. Wherever he stops the longest is probably the drug house. Here," he said picking up a piece of paper and pushing it towards me "Write down the address of where he stops."

"How come we don't just follow him?"

"That'd be a little obvious," Sam replied "Besides this way we get to sit and drink beers while he drives all over town."

At that Sam drained his bottle and opened up the fridge, pulling out two more beers.

"You want one?" he asked.

"No. I'm good."

Sam and I continued to watch as Omar and his crew drove around town. I made note of each stop they made and approximately how long they were there. Two hours in, they were still at it.

"Ugh. This is taking forever!" I said, getting annoyed.

"Patience, sister. We haven't even started the surveillance yet."

Sam once again opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, motioning toward me to ask if I'd like one. I shook my head no again.

While I was keeping track of Omar, I was also keeping track of Sam. He was on beer number five. Thanks to my past I not only have an aversion to alcohol, but I'm also a little nervous around drunks. In my experience anything under eight beers in a few hours made for silly, drunk fun anything more became... well a problem. That's how it was with Dad anyway. He'd be cheerful, or at least calm, and then suddenly out of nowhere he would fly into a rage. We walked on eggshells growing up, counting cans, debating if we could turn on the television or go outside without catching a beating.

As Sam drank his beer, I kept one eye on the computer and one eye on him trying to judge his mood. When I first met Sam he was boozy and flirty and put me at ease. He was very obviously a man who liked alcohol and found it relaxing. As I watched him now, five beers in, his demeanor hadn't changed at all. He didn't even look buzzed. The mood in the room was still light and though I was hesitant, he was calm.

"So Lizzie, those copies you made? They're pretty good. You looking for more clients?" Sam asked moving away from the computer and going to recline in Michael's only chair.

"Always, Sam." I replied. "I do alright, but I'm happy to make a new friend."

"That's good to know, cause I've got a lot of buddies that could use someone with your skills from time to time. "

I noticed that Omar's car had stopped again and paused in our conversation to write down the location and time.

"How'd you get into that anyway?" Sam asked.

I shrugged, unsure if I wanted to tell him the truth or not. While I really did like Sam I was still wary of his inebriated state, plus I wasn't sure what he might pass along to Michael.

"Oh you know. Sometimes life just leads you down those roads." I said.

Sam chuckled, "Sure. Sure. Life just leads you to forgery and counterfeits."

I rolled my eyes and glanced back at the computer. Omar's dot was still in the same spot.

"What about you Sam? How'd you get into this superman-save-the-world business with Michael?" I asked

"Oh me? Navy SEAL" he said puffing up his chest a little.

"Doesn't that mean you should be out on boat somewhere?" I asked.

"Well _former _Navy SEAL," he clarified "I was discharged a couple of years ago."

"Is that how you met Michael? Was he in the Navy with you?"

Sam looked at me, puzzled. "No, Mike's not a navy boy. He was with the Rangers-Army."

"Oh."

I had always thought Michael was Special Forces, I wondered if the Rangers were part of that. I really knew so little about the military and its hierarchy.

"So then how did you meet?" I asked.

"We worked together," Sam said simply, taking another sip of his beer.

"Is that common? For the different military branches to partner up?"

"It was for what we were doing,"

"What were you doing?" I asked, prodding.

"Where is Omar?" Sam said diverting the conversation and coming to look at the computer with me.

I glanced back at the screen. The dot still had not moved. This was the longest it had stayed in any one spot.

"Its still there." I said, pointing to the cross streets near Omar's location.

"Well I'd bet dollars to donuts, that's his drug house," Sam said.

Just then the door to the loft opened and Michael and Fiona strode in.

"Hey!" Sam called. "How was your meeting?"

"Oh Clint's a little worked up, but we calmed him down," Fiona said coming to sit beside me on one of the bar stools.

Sam eyed Michael suspiciously.

"Fiona put some tranquilizers in his drink," Michael said, somewhat guiltily.

"What?!" I said, turning to Fi.

"What?" she said. "We took him home. The man could use a decent night of rest."

I was taken aback. Fiona was way more a wild card then I thought.

"Mikey, you think that's a good idea? Slipping the guy drugs?" Sam asked.

"I didn't Sam, but…" he trailed off, nodding down to Fiona, in a sort of you-know-how-she-is fashion.

"Oh." Sam said quietly into his beer.

Michael nodded.

"So what's the news on Omar?" Fiona asked, looking over my notes.

"He's stopped here. " I said pointing at the screen. "We think it's the place, it's been about 45 minutes and the car hasn't moved. Longer than he was anywhere else today."

"Seems like a good place to start," Michael said.

"We'll need to check it out, make sure its the right place then probably keep an eye on it for a few days," he continued.

"Right, well since I have a date tomorrow night I'll drive by and take a look now," Sam said draining his beer and setting it down on the counter.

"Speaking of dates..." Fiona said, turning to look up at Mike.

"Fi…." he said, warningly.

"Oh no, Michael. I know. Too busy. Whatever." She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"I'd love to Fi, but really," Michael said nodding in my direction.

"Oh! Don't worry about me!" I said, throwing my hands up. "I'm fine to stay here and watch Omar's little red dot," Michael grimaced, not happy with my answer.

"Well then..." Fiona started.

"How about this…" Sam said, cutting her off. " Lizzie and I will go check out Omar's little blinky dot and you and Fi can have your date,"

Fiona grinned up a Michael, pleased to have won.

"Ok." But keep an eye on her Sam," Michael said nodding towards me.

"Michael, I'm not a little kid anymore. I can take care of myself!" I said angrily.

"Come on, Lizzie." Sam said walking around the counter and gesturing for me.

I gave Michael an angry stare before hopping off my stool and following Sam out the door.

I huffed as Sam and I walked down the stairs to his car. Michael was so awful. Why did I care about finding out more about him again? Why did I even care about him? It seemed like every time we spoke it was frustrating, hurtful and downright unpleasant. I should have just ignored his return to Miami.

As we reached his car Sam tossed me the keys.

"Really Sam?" I asked, surprised that he'd let me drive his beloved vehicle.

"Yeah why not? You've earned it sister." He said smiling at me.

I gave him a half smile in return, genuinely flattered by his compliment. I got into the driver's seat and tried to shake off my feelings about my brother. He might treat me like a pestering, bothersome little kid, but I got to drive the Caddie.

"I'm starving," he said "What about you?" Sam asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

At the thought of food my stomach gave a loud growl and I remembered that I had yet to eat today, thanks to all the adrenaline and excitement.

Sam laughed. "Ok well that answers that! We'll go pick something up along with our new car Omar's already seen this one today. "


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

By the time we arrived near the spot of Omar's little blinky dot it was almost dark. Sam had texted with Michael to let him know we were at the spot and waiting. Michael had responded that Omar's car was still there and that he and Fiona were headed to dinner.

Sam parked the car and I scanned the area looking for Omar's vehicle. We were in a residential neighborhood. The houses were all the typical Miami bungalows: small, stucco houses some of them in atrociously bright colors. The cars parked in the driveways and along the street told the story of working class folk, all of them at least 5 years old, nothing flashy. I noticed that the neighborhood was pretty quiet for a weekday night. No families or kids out walking around or playing in yards.

Sam spotted Omar's SUV before I did and pointed it out.

"See, there?" he said, gesturing toward a light pink stucco house about three doors down from where we were sitting. The lights were on inside, the blinds drawn tightly.

"Yeah," I said. "So there they are. Now what?"

"Now we wait."

"Wait? For what?" I asked.

"We need to know more about them. When they come, when they go, where they go. How many guys are in there, that kinda thing."

"Oh." I said staring at the house.

"Helps with the tactical planning." Sam said, explaining further.

Sam leaned over and opened up the glove box, reaching in and pulling out a pair of binoculars.

"Tell me what you see." He said, handing them to me.

I took the binoculars and peered through them at the house.

"It's ...uh….just a house. Oh wait. Hold on. There are security cameras aimed at the front door. The bushes under the front windows are overgrown, jeez, they are blocking half the windows. Umm.. I can't see anything inside, the blinds are down. Looks like a chain link fence around the back yard, I think there is another car parked back there."

I took the binoculars down and handed them to Sam. "Not what I thought a big drug operation would look like,"

"Yeah, that's the point," he said.

"So what do they do here?" I asked.

"Well, Omar brings the big shipments that he gets through Clint's shop here and they cut them down, get them ready for individual sale. "

"Oh." I said.

I'd never spent any time around real drug users. I personally didn't mess with the stuff and none of my friends were into anything that heavy. They'd smoke and drop acid every now and again, but heroin, that's serious.

"Once the drugs are in smaller quantities Omar and his guys deliver them to the dealers on the street.

I nodded.

"So Lizzie," Sam said while peering through the binoculars "How'd you like playing hostage today?"

"Well I could do without being hit in the face, but it was ok. I didn't know Michael had those kinda acting chops. If I didn't know him I really would believe he was a drug lord. Hell, I did believe he was at first." I said.

"Yeah well, your brother can talk," Sam said, still staring at the house.

"So do you guys do this stuff a lot?"

"When we need to," Sam answered evasively.

It seemed like I might never get any real answers about what Michael was up to and why he was taking these jobs. I wondered if Sam might have some answers.

"Why do you do it? Why not just get a real job like everyone else" I asked.

Sam laughed, putting down the binoculars. " A real job? Who wants a real job when you can sit in a hot car for hours watching a drug house?"

I wasn't sure what to make of his answer.

"Seriously. Why?"

Sam turned to look at me, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a calm stare. "I can't say for Mike, but I like to help people. I'm kind of a you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours kinda guy. Plus its is nice to see a little justice in the world."

I nodded thoughtfully. I could tell Sam was telling the truth. He really did want to help people. He had a good heart that much was clear.

"Why do you think Mike does it?"

"I couldn't tell you," Sam said shrugging and looking back to the drug house.

I looked back at it as well. Everything was quiet.

"Sam, do you know why Michael came back?"

Sam was quiet.

"I mean, it was so sudden – just out of the blue. And he's been home for so long. He's never hung around. Its always been in and out- but not this time."

Sam didn't say anything, and kept staring at the house, refusing to look at me.

"I mean, was he discharged from the army? Was it dishonorable or something? If so, that's fine. He doesn't have to hide. Why won't he talk about it? What happened?"

"Liz…" Sam started slowly. "This is something you should be talking about with Mike."

"I tried Sam. I asked. He won't talk to me. He just blew me off. Why is it he can tell you, a guy he barely knows and he won't tell his own family?" I said getting worked up.

"Listen Liz," he said turning to face me "I'm not a guy he barely knows. I've known Mike for 15 years or more and we've saved each other's asses more than once. If he's not telling you something, it's for a reason. You need to trust him,"

I was quiet.

I did trust Michael, back before he left. I trusted that he would be there to protect me and guide me like he always had. Helping me grow up in that house. But when he left I was lost. My whole worldview changed. After he left the balance in the house shifted. No longer did kids outnumber parents- no longer were Nate and I safe behind our big brother's back.

Nate tried. He tried so hard to be like Michael. It was so painful to watch. Nate never had that inner strength that Mike had to face down dad. He was just more scared of him than anything. Whereas Michael would fight back, Nate would duck and cover. He would try to stand up, try to fight, but Dad seemed to know the exact thing to say to make him cower. Nate never had the self-confidence he needed to stand up to my father over and over. More and more, after Mike left Nate and I were on our own when it came to dealing with Dad. Before, we were a united front, ready to stand up for each other. After Michael left it was every man for himself. I could feel my throat begin to tighten at the memories and took in a shaky breath, trying to control myself.

I pushed back my thoughts once more and tried to focus back on Omar's drug house.

As I refocused, the front door of the house opened and Sam and I watched as Omar and two other men walked out. They all quickly got into the SUV that we had tracked and took off down the road.

Sam opened his phone.

"Aren't we going to follow him?" I asked.

"No," Sam said typing out a text on his phone. "I'll let Mike know he's on the move. We need to watch the house."

"How many men do you think are in there?" I asked Sam.

"Not sure, but I'm gonna go find out. Wait here,"

Sam opened up the car door and casually walked towards Omar's house. I watched as he knocked on the door and a few moments later a tall Hispanic man opened it. Sam spoke with the guy, gesturing down the street towards where we were parked. The man at the door just shook his head, point for Sam to go away. Sam asked something again and at that point the man at the door just turned around slamming the front door in Sam's face.

Sam trudged back to the car.

"So?" I asked him when he got back inside " What did you say?"

"Said I had car trouble, just needed to use the phone. They weren't too friendly,"

"I noticed. Did you see anything?"

"Not much, but there were five or six other guys in there all armed to the teeth."

"Oh."

"I think Omar probably keeps this place staffed 24-7 and under pretty tight surveillance. We'll need to hang around and see when these guys change shifts. Get comfortable sister," he said.

I sighed and leaned back against the seat. Great more waiting.

Three hours later it was pitch black outside I was really bored. Sam and I had talked-keeping to generic topics like weather and our favorite late night talk shows, but we had run out about an hour ago.

"So," he said quietly. "Why were you following your brother?"

"I wasn't." I lied automatically, still staring out my passenger side window.

Sam sighed. I turned, but couldn't see his face in the dark, but I assumed he wasn't smiling.

"You don't have to lie to me."

I bit the inside of my lip. I honestly didn't mean to lie all the time. It just happened.

"It's a reflex," I said, shrugging. "The lie comes out before I can even think to tell the truth… just habit I guess,"

"So does that mean you don't like Letterman?" Sam asked.

I was quiet.

"Oh come on!" Sam cried, "Well don't tell me you like Leno!"

I smiled half-heartedly. "Actually, I don't even watch those shows."

Sam scoffed.

"So is every word out of your mouth a lie then?"

I bit my lip again, feeling guilty. I did like Sam. I could see that he was a genuinely nice person. I hated to think about him disliking me.

"I told you Sam. I didn't mean to… it just happens,"

"Ok," he said and I could feel his eyes on me "Then tell me one truth. Why are you so angry at Mike?"

I looked away, bringing a hand up to run through my hair nervously. I really did want to tell him the truth about something. I just wished he had picked a simpler question.

"You can trust me. Your brother does."

"Yeah well I don't trust him!" I spat, suddenly angry. "Not anymore!"

Sam was quiet, waiting for me to calm down.

I bit the inside of my lip, embarrassed at my outburst. "I'm sorry Sam." I said with a sigh. "I do want to tell you… You're right I am mad at him. I didn't realize it until he came home, but I've been mad for a really long time. It's just…. Its just hard to talk…."

Sam reached out and put his hand on my knee. I pulled away, afraid of losing control of my emotions in his comfort. The thought of spilling my guts had me tightly wound and I determined not to break down in front of him.

"Ok Sam. One truth." I said taking a breath, and focusing. "You said you know Michael pretty well. Did he tell you what it was like for us growing up?"

"He said a few things. I got the impression your dad was a real hard-ass."

"Not just a hard-ass Sam, he was a drunk abusive bastard. Living with him was like living in war zone. We never knew when the next bomb was gonna drop. After Michael left things were bad. Worse than they ever were when he was around. And he was just gone….Gone."

"I was 12, Sam. We didn't hear from him for years! We were just left."

Sam was quiet for a moment before answering.

"Lizzie that was a long time ago. I think you have to try to forgive him."

"I know Sam! I know that! And I had. I had moved on. Forgotten about all of it- until he showed up out of the blue at mom's house. Then it was just like… it all came rushing back…"

"I know he had to get out," I said, calming down. " I know that he had to save himself... but…. I…." I was too embarrassed to continue. I wanted to say 'I wanted him to save me too,' but I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud.

"Oh Liz.." Sam said.

I took a deep breath, calming myself.

"You wanted one truth, Sam. Be careful what you ask for."

Suddenly Sam's phone buzzed and he opened it to read a text.

"Fi will be here just after 12 to take over."

I nodded, and then remembered the dark "Ok."

"Look, Lizzie. This will all be over soon."

_Not soon enough_ I thought to myself. I decided since we were being all truthful and such, now might be good time for me to really apologize to Sam for messing up their plans.

"Sam, I'm sorry for getting involved in all this. I didn't mean to complicate things, or put you guys in danger."

"Oh hell, sister we're always in danger!" Sam said, a smile in his voice

"In fact, back in '95 I was in the Baltics…."

Sam started in on his story, regaling me with Navy Seal tales for the rest of the night. After listening to him talk for several hours, I wondered where he got off calling me a liar. Regardless though, he could tell a mean story and it helped the time pass quickly. Before I knew it Fiona had pulled up behind us and Sam was taking me back to the loft.

It was after one when we finally got back to Mike's place. Sam dropped me off on the street and watched as I made my way upstairs.

I knocked gently on the door, unsure if Michael would be asleep or not. Sam had said he would still be awake, but I halfway hoped the he wouldn't answer and I'd have a chance to go back to my own apartment. It felt like weeks since I'd been home.

To my disappointment, Michael opened the door gun in hand.

"Jesus bro. Who did you think it was? Assassins don't knock." I said, sliding around him as he closed the door behind me.

"Did you see anything at Omar's?" he asked.

"Not much- a couple of guys, a couple of trucks. Sam took notes and Fiona is there now." I said walking toward the staircase.

"Good. We need to know when he moves the product,"

I nodded, and began to climb the stairs. I was exhausted and just ready to go to sleep. This day seemed like the longest day of my life and I was ready for it to be over.

"Liz," Mike called out to me.

Halfway up the stairs I turned back to look at him.

"I just wanted to say…I uh….I'm sorry for what I said the other day. I didn't realize it,"

_Ugh, we're gonna do this now?,_ I thought.

"It's fine Michael. " I said brushing him off and continuing up the stairs.

"You ok Lizzie?" he asked following me.

"I'm fine Mike." I mumbled, wishing he would just go away. I'd already been through the emotional ringer with Sam tonight, I wasn't eager to do it again with Michael.

He continued to follow me up to the loft, where I collapsed onto the leather couch. He stood at the top of the stairs, studying me.

"Go away Michael." I said.

Michael walked over slowly, sitting on the arm of the couch.

"Look I know this is hard, but you are doing great."

I looked over at him, annoyed.

"I'm fine." I said again, no emotion in my voice.

"It won't take much longer. Two or three days at the most,"

I looked away from him and rubbed my forehead. Why did he feel like he had to pander to me? I'm a grown woman. I knew what I got myself into and I could handle it. He was treating me like a child again.

"I can handle this." I said, trying to smother the ember of rage that was growing in my chest. "You don't have to talk to me that way."

"You're doing a good job…" he continued.

"Shut up Mike!" I yelled, standing up. " I can handle the job! It's being around you that's stressing me out!"

Michael looked stricken, shocked by my admission.

I stood there, feeling the anger burn inside me.

"Me?" he asked quietly.

"Yes you!" I screamed, looking around the loft, trying to find a way out. I wanted to run away so badly, but Mike was blocking the only exit.

"I hate being around you!" I said, turning my back to him and grabbing the metal railing of the loft tightly for support.

Michael was silent behind me.

I closed my eyes tightly, quickly losing control and feeling the waterfall of emotions beginning to cascade over me.

"I can't take it! I'm so angry with you! You're my brother, but not…and… it's been so long... I don't even know you… " I heard myself rambling, desperate to put my feelings into words. "You don't even know, Mike. You don't…. When you left... ugh... things just got so bad at home. Dad was so angry, for months. He was furious- all the time. Everything we did… everything just… and Nate... " I paused, taking in a shaky breath.

"Nate tried… tried so hard to be like you... but he couldn't. He started getting into so much trouble, which made Dad angrier and things just got worse. And me…. I didn't know what to do! I was helpless!"

I turned back to glare at him, no longer trying to hide or control my rage. "You! You never showed me what to do! I didn't know how to protect myself! Or mom! Or Nate! I couldn't do anything! You just left me! All those years you stood in front, taking the hits, and then you were just gone! I was clueless Michael!" I screamed.

I turned away again, unable to look at him, silent tears running down my cheeks.

"Then, you show up all of sudden in mom's dining room after 10 years? Acting like nothing happened? Like you didn't miss everything? Mom's talking to you like nothing has changed, like she hasn't asked me every day for years what I thought you were doing? And if you were ok?"

I turned back to face him slowly. Suddenly he stood up, rage and hurt filling his eyes.

"You think that it was easy for me!?" he yelled, the vein in his forehead standing out against his tan skin. "You think that I didn't feel like rotten son-a-bitch leaving you two there? That I didn't feel like I was betraying you?!" he continued, taking a step toward me.

I made a move to back up, but found myself already against the railing.

"I hated myself for leaving! I felt guilty everyday! I felt like a piece of shit leaving my little brother and sister in that mess! What was I supposed to do? Be your human shield for the rest of your life?"

I glared at him. I didn't think of him as a human shield, just a brother protecting a little sister.

"You're right! I had to get out. I had to save myself. I had hoped that by getting out I could save you too."

"Well that didn't happen did it Michael!?" I yelled back at him. " You never came back! You just disappeared!"

"I didn't have a choice!" he shouted.

"Neither did I!" I screamed back.

I was quiet then, my heart racing in my chest. Michael and I had never screamed at each other like this. Throughout our childhood my brothers and I stood together, a joint force against the dangers and fear in our home. Now, the anger and resentment I held toward him blinded me from the feelings of admiration and love I once held. I could feel all the muscles in my back and neck tense, my entire body nearly vibrating with raw emotion. We stared at each other, neither ready to give up the high ground.

Finally I glanced away, no longer able to watch the hurt in his eyes.

"You had to save yourself," I whispered. "Nate left as soon as he could too."

"I'm back now," he said quietly.

"Why?" I asked, turning to look at him again.

Michael sighed. His shoulders sagged like he carried the weight of the world on them. "Lizzie…" he started, taking another small step toward me. "I can't tell you. My job… it was dangerous. I'd like to tell you why I was gone so long, and what I was doing but I just can't. Not even Fi and Sam know everything."

I sighed. The tears that had dried during our screaming match were rising up in my eyes again.

"They at least know you." I said, glancing away from him. I felt his eyes questioning me.

"You were so young when you left Michael. You came back a full-grown man. It's so strange… It's like seeing a different person with my brother's face. I don't even know who you are."

We were both quiet again.

"You're different too, you know. You were just a little kid when I left."

I looked up at him He had dropped the mask of non-emotion that I had gotten used to seeing. He was now staring at me with concern.

"It's hard for me." He said, " You and Nate grew up without me."

It was true. Not only had Michael missed my father's drunken rages, but he also missed my first date, Nate's first car, and our graduations. Everything. For as little as I knew about him, he probably knew even less about me.

"Is that why you are still treating me like kid?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't trust me to do anything. 'Stay out of trouble.' 'Keep an eye on her'. You act like I'm 10."

Michael gave me a soft smile. "Can't we just call that a big brother thing?"

I bit my lip, my anger slowly receding.

"You know I had to go," he said "I'd be dead or in jail if didn't"

I knew that was true. With Michael's juvy record he was already headed down a dangerous path. If he hadn't run away, he could have easily been playing the part of Tommy Dewalt for real.

"I know," I said.

I didn't know it was possible but I felt even more exhausted than when I had first come back from the surveillance with Sam.

"Mike?" I said sinking down into the couch.

"Hmm?" he said turning to look at me.

"I'm sorry for getting mixed up in this thing with Omar. "

Michael nodded, not saying anything.

"I just wanted to know what you were doing, you know, get to know you,"

Michael took a deep breath. "Who knows Liz, your little stunt could earn us even more leverage with Omar, but for now lets save the get to know you stuff huh?"

I sighed as Mike turned to go.

"Get some sleep." He said grabbing a blanket off the back, and moving to cover me with it "I'm going to watch Omar's around 6 but I should be back around lunch."

"I'll go with you." I said, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

"We'll see." He said, patting my head.

I swatted his hand away, "I'm coming with you." I said forcefully. "I messed this up, I want to help fix it,"

"Ok," he said turning and walking to the stairs "I'll come get you."

"Goodnight Michael," I called out as he walked down the stairs.

"Night, Lizzie," he called back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

I woke up with a start to the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see my brother standing over me, a soft look on his face.

"Morning," he whispered, leaning back.

I pushed myself up, squinting and rubbing my eyes.

"You don't have to go," he said.

"No. No. I do," I said stretching my neck and sitting up on the couch.

"Here," Mike said bringing up a duffel bag and sitting it on the couch next to me. "I didn't get a chance to give this to you last night."

I recognized it as one of my duffel bags and when I looked inside, found it full of my clothes.

"How...?" I asked. Michael didn't know where I lived and he certainly didn't have a key. How did he get all this stuff?

"Mom gave me your address and Fi stopped by yesterday and got some stuff for you," he explained.

"Stopped by?"

"Yeah, you might want to look into getting some better locks." Michael said, turning to go back downstairs.

I shook my head. Having Michael and his friends around was going to take some getting used to.

I dug through the bag, happily finding fresh clothes, my hairbrush and makeup. I quickly gathered up the bag and headed downstairs to get ready.

Happy in my fresh clothes and with my hair in a ponytail I walked into the kitchen as Michael was pulling several containers of yogurt out of the fridge. He tossed one at me as I walked to the counter.

"You sure like your yogurt," I said catching the container.

"Of course. It's a perfect food. Just the right amount of protein, carbs and sugars," he said grabbing two spoons out of the drawer. "We'll take these for the road."

"Perfect food huh?" I said eyeing the container of peach yogurt he had thrown at me. "I think I have to disagree. The perfect food is chocolate,"

"Where'd you come up with that?" he asked, grabbing a gun off the workbench and putting in the waistline of his jeans.

"Years of PMS." I said.

Michael groaned, rolling his eyes at me. He grabbed a notebook and pen off the workbench as well and gathered up a set of keys.

"What car are you driving these days?" I asked as we walked out the door and Michael paused to lock it behind us.

"Whatever I can borrow," he said as we headed down the stairs.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and the dirty industrial lot by Michael's apartment was bathed in a soft pink light. It was cool morning, almost cold by Miami winter standards, and I was thankful I'd grabbed a jacket on the way out the door.

I followed him down the stairs and out to the street where we began walking toward downtown. Michael was scanning the area, looking for what I guessed would be our new ride. It was strange to be tagging along behind him again. As much as I wanted him to treat me like an adult, when we walked down the street with him leading the way I felt like I was 10 years old again. As a kid it was easy to follow his lead and as I scanned the streets looking for a good car I noticed that the years hadn't changed that much in that aspect. I subconsciously did what he did, looked where he looked and matched my movements to mirror his. It was why I didn't out myself with Omar in the Auto Shop parking lot, why I was willing to let Fiona punch me and why I was able to lie so convincingly.

"What about that?" I said nodding to a black Nissan parked near an office building.

Michael looked over and appraised the car, again scanning the area around us. He seemed to be hypersensitive to his surroundings at all times. I wondered if that was part of his old job.

"Its in tow away zone," I said, "The owner will probably never miss it. It will be forever before he even thinks to report it stolen,"

Michael nodded in approval and we made our way over to the car.

"Oh, I wish I had my slim jim!" I said as we approached the vehicle.

Michael studied the car for a moment and then took off toward the office building. I followed close at his heels unsure of what he was doing.

He walked up to the front doors of the office and grabbed on of the plastic doorstops that was lying outside the door. He then strode purposely over to alley beside the building where after briefly scanning the exterior wall, he grabbed and pulled down a thin piece of wiring, breaking it off by simply bending it back and forth.

I watched curiously. He'd no doubt need the wire to break into the car but what was the doorstop for? I'd never used that.

Michael walked back over to the car, glancing around surreptitiously before wedging the doorstop into the upper part of the driver side door, banging it in several times. With the doorstop in, the driver side door was cracked open enough for Mike to slide the wire in and easily hit the car's unlock button. The locks clicked and Michael opened the door, catching the doorstop in his hand.

"Here, go put that back," he said handing the doorstop to me.

I was slightly impressed. It wasn't rocket science, but it was neat to see Michael think on his feet. And leave it to Michael to steal a car, but want me to return the doorstop.

I scurried over to the building dropping off the doorstop where we found it, while Mike hot-wired the car. I hopped into the passenger side and we headed off back to Omar's drug house.

"So what about the Charger? Are you gonna take it?" I asked as we drove.

"Maybe." he said, not taking his eyes off the road. "You know it doesn't run. Needs sparkplugs I think,"

I nodded. I wasn't aware the car didn't run, but I wasn't surprised. Leave it to Dad to leave a project undone. He left millions of things around the house halfway complete, under the guise that we'd need him to fix them one day. It was annoying as hell.

Soon we were nearing Omar's house and Michael called Fiona to let her know. She met us about two blocks away, handing over her notes while yawning.

"Have fun Michael," she said as she drove away.

Michael parked the car, again three houses down, but this time in the opposite direction of where Sam and I had parked. I didn't think this side of the street had as good of a vantage point, but I kept my mouth shut, opting to let Mr. Military lead the way.

We soon settled in, Michael reviewing Fiona's notes and me investigating the house through binoculars. It didn't look like much had changed since I was here last night.

"Look at the car in the driveway," Mike said.

I directed my gaze to the lowered silver Volkswagen Passat in the driveway.

"Do you see any dew on the car?"

I looked over the car, pausing on the hood, roof and windshield.

"No, none at all."

"That's because it was moved during the night. Checking for morning dew is a way to see if things have changed in the night, if you don't have the luxury of 24 hour surveillance," he explained.

"Oh. Very nice Mike," I said lowering the binoculars to nod at him. "I guess surveillance is all about the little things huh?"

Michael nodded handing me Fiona's pad of notes, motioning for the binoculars in return.

I scanned through the notes and sure enough at 3:15 a.m. Fiona had recorded that the silver car had left and then returned about 45 minutes later. I wondered what other things Michael would notice that I had missed.

"So what's the play here Mike? I mean we are watching the place but what next?" I asked, absently flipping through the rest of the notes.

"Basically we have to find a way to get the police to respond to this location and discover the drugs."

"That seems pretty simple, why don't you just call it in as a tip?

"The police need to have probable cause to go into the house. If we just called in a tip, they'd have to stop by and ask permission to examine the house and that would tip off Omar. I want these guys to get caught red handed."

"Oh."

"The plan is to get Omar to give me a tour of the facility, have him show me all drugs and how they process it as a sign of good faith. After that we will call in an emergency to the police, get them to respond and catch Omar in the house with the drugs," Michael explained.

"Hmm," I said nodding in approval. "So how are you gonna make sure Omar doesn't get away?"

"Sam is working on that now."

We settled into silence, both staring at the house Omar was using as a drug distribution facility. Such a normal looking house on such a normal looking street, it reminded me that you never know what's going on behind closed doors. Our childhood home was the same way. Although we might have gotten into trouble in school or elsewhere, our father was very careful to make it appear that our family was the epitome of middle class normality. Regardless of the fact that he never held a steady job, or that he forced his kids to help him steal, or that he blew his paychecks on booze, the most important thing was that everything look good on the outside.

"So…." I started, considering what I could ask Michael about his mysterious return to Miami now that we were confined to the car and he couldn't evade my interrogation.

"Don't ask me about my job, Liz." He said cutting me off.

"I wasn't!" I lied, biting back my question. Damn. "I was going to ask you how you met this Clint character…" I said quickly covering.

"He's a friend of a friend."

_Oh great that again. _

"Seriously Michael? Why do you do that? Why do you have to put up this wall against me? I'm your sister- your family. You're supposed to be able to trust family."

"Really? And where would I have learned that?"

I sighed. Good point, I thought to myself. We were both quiet again. While I wanted desperately to talk to him and get to know him again, he was making it impossible. Was he this cold and distant before he left? I didn't think so. The Michael I remembered was stoic maybe, but always tenderhearted. He was quick to wipe away any tear that fell on my cheek or to bandage any injury. Growing up I never felt more calm or safe then when I was wrapped up in a tight hug against his chest. I missed that feeling. I have yet to meet another man in my life who has made me feel as safe and cared for.

I sighed again quietly and looked out the passenger side window. I might never feel that way again. Michael seemed so adamant about keeping me in the dark about his job that he was keeping me at arms length. He been back for over a week, hell I'd been living with him for two days, and the only physical contact we had was when he held a gun to my head in front of Omar.

"Fine." I said gritting my teeth. "Forget it. I'll just ask Fiona."

"Fi?" Michael said startled, turning to evaluate me. "What has she told you?"

"Plenty." I replied smugly, ignoring his stare. Even though our brief conversation on the way to the loft after my first meeting with Omar didn't yield any results, I now knew that Michael didn't want her to tell me anything, which meant I'd be asking her endless questions next time we were alone.

I could feel Michael staring at me, but I refused to look at him instead choosing to continue to stare out the passenger side window. If he could keep secrets then so could I, even if I didn't have any yet.

"Look," Mike said with a resigned sigh. "Clint is a guy that Sam met when he went to get his girlfriend's car repaired. He's just a guy who needs help."

I continued to stare out the window, but had to stifle the smile threatening to spread across my face.

"So you aren't putting out ads for this little Robin Hood thing of yours?" I asked, glancing at him.

"No. Trust me. I don't go looking for this kind of stuff."

"Trouble just finds you doesn't it? Must be the Westen curse." I said shaking my head. Michael shrugged in agreement as he studied Omar's house once more.

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to decide if it was worth it to push Michael for more answers. Just getting one detail out of him was like pulling teeth and that wasn't even about his old job or where he'd been. I was afraid that demanding more answers might lead to another screaming match between us and really one fight in 24 hours was more than enough. Instead I settled back into the leather passenger seat keeping my eyes trained on Omar's house watching for any activity.

Several hours later the hot Miami morning sun had fully risen over the horizon and was bearing down on the little black Nissan and I was beginning to bake.

"Can we turn the air on?" I asked.

"No." he answered shortly.

"Because…?"

"Because a running car sitting on the street for hours draws attention," He explained. "Here you can crack your window."

"Its fine," I said brushing him of, moving to take off the light jacket I had thrown on as we left the loft that morning.

As I turned to pull the jacket off my right arm, I could hear Michael's breath catch in his throat as he saw my back. I instantly felt my chest get tight and my face flush red. I knew he was seeing the scars on my back that my tank top didn't cover. The three red stripes that crisscrossed and ran from shoulder to shoulder just below my neck. I shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, wishing for the millionth time that I didn't have them. I was so self-conscious as a teenager I couldn't wear a bathing suit around my friends, a major problem in Miami. It wasn't until freshman year of college that I came up with a reasonable lie that explained those stupid scars away. Even so, I still tried to avoid having to show them.

I couldn't bring myself to look at Mike. He knew where those scars came from. Though I hadn't seen him without a shirt since he was a teenager I knew he had several reminders across his own back from the times he tangoed with dad's belt. I stared down at my hands, nervously picking at my fingernails.

"Nate said they had faded -that they're hardly noticeable anymore. I should have known he was lying."

"Uh... no…no… Its not…" Michael said tripping over his words.

"I told you it was bad when you left Mike," I said cutting him off as tears started to prick the corners of my eyes.

"I…uh.." he said, struggling. As I turned to look at him his cell phone rang loudly, breaking the mounting tension in the car. He grabbed it, quickly answering the call, a look of stricken relief crossing his face.

"Yeah? Yeah. Clint hold on!" he said firmly. "Alright…. Look I'll come by today ok? Just don't do anything. Ok?"

Clint's panicked phone call had released the pressure in the car, bringing me back to reality and away from the emotions that threatened to overtake me. I could feel my tears instantly dry up and my painful memories snapped right back into the tight little box in my mind where I had held them for years.

Looking at Michael he seemed to have also recovered from his momentary speechlessness.

"Clint said he got a call from Omar," He said, nodding to the drug house.

"Guess he's freaking out."

"Yeah. I'm gonna need to go meet with him today and calm him down. Just give him some reassurance,"

I nodded in response.

"Look Liz…" he began.

"No Michael. It's fine. Lets not do this ok? We aren't good at it and honestly I don't really wanna deal with our emotional baggage today."

This time it was Mike's turn to nod. He turned away from me and started up the car.

"What about Omar?" I asked, confused that we were leaving the house unwatched.

"We have a basic understanding of his operation and its comings and goings. I'd like to get more, but right now we have to see about Clint before he does something stupid."

"You think he's gonna do something stupid?"

"Undoubtedly." Michael said disdainfully. "People under that much pressure usually make the wrong choices. I just wanna get there before it happens."

At that we sped away from Omar's neighborhood, presumably off to stop Clint from making his bad situation worse. Michael called Fiona on the way there and asked her to meet us. From what I could hear, she sounds less then excited to be woken up after so few hours sleep to save this guy from himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

We arrived at Clint's house a short time later, Fiona zipping into the driveway right behind us. She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

"This job is turning out to be more trouble then its worth," she said striding up to us as we walked to the front door.

"Tell me about it," Michael said turning pointedly at me. I rolled my eyes in response.

Michael rapped on the front door of the house and it was quickly opened by a frazzled looking man. I recognized him as Clint, the sweaty pale guy from the Auto Shop the other day.

"Thank God," he said beginning to usher us inside "Who…?" He began to question, staring at me.

"We'll explain later," Fi said pushing her way past him and into the house. Michael followed her ignoring Clint's confused stare.

We walked into a large beautifully decorated living room. Clint obviously had some money to spare. I don't know much about interior design, but it was pretty easy to see that this house was professionally decorated. No normal person would pick out a six-foot tall steel sculpture and stick in the middle of the room.

Clint was still eyeing me suspiciously as I surveyed his home. I noticed that while Clint wasn't as sweaty as the first time I saw him, he was still pretty worked up. He still had his cell phone in his right hand and was gripping it with white knuckles. In fact his entire body seemed to be on edge.

"Omar just called. Said he wants to schedule another shipment." Clint said, cutting his eyes away from me momentarily to look at Michael.

Mike was walking around Clint's living room looking out each of the windows and closing the blinds that were open.

"That's fine." Michael replied. "Keep everything business as usual."

"What about the shipment? I don't want to bring anymore drugs in!" Clint exclaimed.

"Its ok. It won't get that far," Mike said walking over to him. "We have this under control."

"Oh yeah? Then who's she?" he shouted, pointing over to me." I don't remember you mentioning her as part of the plan,"

"She's working with us. Don't worry Clint, this will all be over soon," Michael said giving Clint an awkward pat on the arm in an attempt at reassurance.

I had to stifle a grimace, watching Michael try to comfort Clint was embarrassing. I thought he was just distant with me because of our past, but it seemed like he had trouble with any sort of emotional interaction. I wondered what his relationship with Fiona was like. She obviously had a thing for him, and he for her, but how could that work if he never shared anything with her? I made a mental note to add it to my list of questions for her.

As if called by my mental wanderings Fiona appeared from the back of the house.

"Clear." She said to Michael, ignoring Clint and me.

"Good." He said in response. "Now Clint, listen to me. I want you to stay inside, stay away from the windows and doors and just lay low ok?"

"What? You think they are coming here? Oh god…"

"Omar and his guys have no reason to come here. Its just a precaution," Mike explained calmly.

"Yeah, besides they won't kill you while you're still useful," Fi said with a shrug.

Clint's eyes went wide and he gave Michael a panicked look.

"She's right." He conceded. "As long as you are helping them and doing what they want, you'll be fine. For now just…" Michael's speech was cut short by the ring of his cell phone.

He quickly dug in his pants pocket, pulled it out and glanced at it for a moment before answering.

"Yeah?" he said turning away from Clint, Fiona and myself.

"Yeah... I understand." he said before hanging up and turning back around to us. "Fi?"

Fiona cocked her head to look at him.

"I've got..."

"Yeah, yeah." She answered dismissively, cutting him off. "Go ahead."

"Can you…"

"Finish up here and drop Liz at the loft? Sure."

"Thanks Fi." Michael said, giving her a genuine look of gratitude. He shoved his cell phone back in his pocket, turned on his heel practically running out the door. Fiona, Clint and I were left standing in an awkward silence.

Fiona broke the stillness with a declaration to Clint. "Just stay here, stay quiet and don't do anything stupid."

_Subtle._ I thought sarcastically. I could see where she and Mike got along. They both seemed to have the emotionally delicacy of two bulls in a china shop. I wanted to reassure Clint myself, but honestly I didn't know that everything would be ok. I knew Michael and his friends took the whole situation very seriously, but it still seemed unnecessarily dangerous. They were willing putting themselves in the line of fire to help Clint. And while I agreed he was in in desperate need of the assistance it seemed like a big risk to take for a paycheck. Omar and his thugs didn't seem the type to mess around. I'd be willing to bet that anything that got in the way of them making money and doing business wasn't going to be in the way for very long.

After repeating Michael's orders Fiona and I left a still very frazzled looking Clint to his own devices.

As we started toward the loft in her little blue Hyundai I debated on how to start asking Fiona questions about my brother's past. I knew this was likely to be my only chance alone with her and I wanted to get as much out of it as possible without pissing her off. Although I didn't know her that well, I knew enough to realize that Fiona's bad side wasn't a place I wanted to be.

"You think Clint will be ok?" I asked, trying to start the conversation with a safe topic.

"He'll be fine. Omar's not as tough as he looks."

"Looked pretty tough to me…."

"Please. He's just a middle management drug dealer looking to move up the food chain."

This Fiona chick was bold, that's for sure. I can't think of any woman I've ever met that would be so flippant about a drug dealer who was threatening to kill people. Normal people, like Clint, would be scared- and they would be right. For Fiona to be so glib about the whole situation was interesting, if not a little frightening. What had she been through in her life that made a drug cartel look like petty crime?

"So where did Mike run off to?" I asked forging ahead into my interrogation.

"Who knows," she said "He's all over the place these days."

"Really? Doing what?" I asked excitedly. As soon as I heard the words come out of my mouth I regretted them. I wanted to play it cool with Fiona, not seem like an over eager kid.

"Trying to get his job back," she said plainly.

_Wait, what? _I had to do a mental double take. I was so prepared for her to give me the "you better ask Mike" thing that I wasn't ready for an actual answer. Was she really telling me the truth? Was someone actually answering a question without giving me the run around?

I was quiet for a moment, trying to decide if Fiona was being truthful with me. I wasn't used to straightforward honesty. My mother was manipulative; my father a swindler, Nate was a cheat and Michael a vault of silence. I was completely unprepared for Fiona. She didn't have any reason to lie to me and given her blunt declarations to Clint about his situation, lying didn't seem to be her style.

"Really?" I asked, trying this time not to seem so eager. I hoped that she would explain more and give me the answers I had so desperately been searching for the past few weeks.

Fiona said nothing, quickly dashing my hopes for an all out confession about Michael. She stared straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. She seemed to be in deep thought, a scowl crossing her face.

"I don't understand him!" She suddenly exclaimed, seemingly to no one in particular. "He just expects me to take care of everything, just expects me to be there! The ungrateful bastard! He doesn't know how good he has it!" she yelled.

I was quiet in the passenger seat. She seemed to have forgotten I was even in the car and she obviously wasn't talking about Clint or Omar. She continued to huff, tightening her jaw and clenching the wheel and I noticed that our speed was steadily rising.

"Uh...Fiona?" I questioned meekly. I'm no coward, but my past has taught me that when people are enraged its best to proceed in slow, quiet steps- lest their angry wrath fall upon you.

"I do everything for him! Everything he asks! I didn't even want to take this job! What's wrong with him?! What's wrong with me?" she shouted at the dashboard.

"Fiona." I said quietly, but more firmly. She continued to push the accelerator, whizzing past other vehicles and rapidly changing lanes to avoid rear-ending slower cars. Our speed was hovering near 70 on the city streets.

"Fiona…Slow down. Please." I asked, raising my voice, hoping that she would notice my concern and slow down. "Michael isn't gong to appreciate you any more if you get us killed."

At that, Fiona instantly took her foot of the pedal and looked at me. She seemed to have just remembered that I was in the car with her. She stared at me for just a moment, before slamming on the brakes and spinning us into a gravel parking lot.

I held onto the door for dear life as the car spun, closing my eyes and bracing myself for an impact I was sure was headed my way. When the car came to a halt without having crashed into anything I opened my eyes cautiously, daring to glance at Fiona.

She glared at me before demanding, "Well, you're his sister you tell me what his problem is!"

_What a loaded question_. I thought to myself. I had to release the breath I didn't realized I'd been holding before I was able to answer her.

"I don't know Fi, what do you want to know?" I asked, feeling pretty bad for her.

"I thought Michael cared about me. I thought that he wanted to be with me, but he just won't." she said dejectedly.

I was quiet for a moment, thinking about her words. Apparently I wasn't the only person Michael was keeping at arms length. I could almost understand his hesitation where I was concerned, but one glance at the way he looked at Fiona and it was obvious that he was beyond in love with her. Every time she spoke to him his eyes got all soft like he could see only her.

"Michael does care about you. That's easy to see," I said to her. "I've only seen you two together a handful of times but from the look in his eyes I think its pretty clear he'd walk through fire and brimstone to get to you,"

"Then what is his problem?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Poor Fi. For being such a tough kick-ass kind of girl, she had the same man problems as the rest of us.

"I don't know Fi… maybe its just Michael. I mean we didn't really grow up in a loving, touchy-feely kind of home. I have a terrible time just telling people the truth, much less actually getting close to someone. Seems like Michael might be the same way... or maybe even worse."

"I know he loves me." She stated firmly, though it seemed like she was saying it more to herself then to me.

"Like I said Fi, that much is obvious."

"What was it like then? What made him this way?"

I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. I never intended on being on the other side of the interrogation about my brother. I wasn't prepared for Fiona to ask me about our past and to have to explain why we were all so damaged. Clearly Michael had never shared with her even the most basic details of his unhappy childhood. If he hadn't shared the information I was pretty positive he wouldn't want me to. Would he every forgive me if aired his secrets?

Fiona was staring at me again, her eyes demanding an explanation.

"Um... I don't know if Michael would want me to tell you…" I said hesitantly.

"Excuse me!" she said, getting angry again. "This from the girl who has been asking non-stop questions and nearly got herself shot trying to get information on her brother? I don't think so! Tell me."

I grumbled angrily under my breath. Michael might never forgive me for sharing his past, but Fiona might never let me out of the car alive if I didn't.

"Fine then. A question for a question. Since Michael won't tell either of us what we want to know, we can just figure it out from each other. I ask you a question and then you can ask me. Deal?"

Fiona nodded shortly in agreement. "I asked. Now you answer. And NO lies."

I grumbled again, mad that she already had the upper hand in our little deal. While I wanted to find out information from Fiona I really didn't want to be the one airing our family's dirty laundry.

"Michael, Nate and I had a very unhappy childhood. I think it messed him up pretty badly, emotionally I mean. I know it did me."

"Unhappy?" Fiona asked. "In what way?"

"Nope. My turn." I said in response, and earning myself another glare from the angry little pixie in the driver's seat.

"What is Michael doing back in Miami after all these years?"

"He got fired from his job and the company dumped him here."

"Dumped him here? What? What does that mean?"

Fiona shook her head at me. "Uh-uh, this is your little game. One question at a time. And it's my turn. What do you mean about an unhappy childhood? Like what specifically?"

_Oh God._ I thought. She went right for the jugular. My mind spun to come up with an answer for her. I've been in therapy for years, but somehow it's still so hard to admit out loud that we were abused as kids. I know, and have been told over and over, that it wasn't our fault but I still wasn't able to shake the guilt and embarrassment. I supposed Michael wasn't able to either, maybe that's why he never told her. He just couldn't stand feeling so weak and humiliated in front of the woman he most loved in the world. And now I was about to do it for him.

Fiona noticed me thinking it over. "You better not lie to me, Elizabeth" she threatened. "I'll make you regret it."

"I think I'm gonna regret telling you this no matter what Fi." I said with a sigh. "Our dad was… He was a piece of work. He drank… a lot. Got angry a lot. And when he got drunk and angry he got violent," I paused for a moment, trying to chose my words carefully "Michael took most of the hits, trying to protect the rest of us- my mom included."

Fiona was silent, the angry expression on her face having fallen into shocked sadness.

"Oh Michael," she whispered, as if he were in the car with us and she could reach out and stroke his hair to comfort him.

"Fiona he's gonna be so upset with me for telling you this, I just know it. Please don't tell him."

She nodded, a far off look in her eyes. She was going to tell him she knew about his past I could see that, but maybe she wouldn't tell him where she found out. I hated to think that I might have betrayed my own brother. As the thought crossed my mind, I suddenly remembered Michael's outburst from last night "_You think I didn't feel like I was betraying you!"_ His words rang in my ears and I suddenly felt lower then low.

If Michael hadn't already told Fiona about our childhood what right of mine was it to spill it to her? Now she knew one of his darkest secrets, and I knew it would have an effect on their relationship. Fiona was still staring off into the distance and I wondered what she was thinking about.

She noticed me watching at her and quickly shook off her absent stare.

"Ok, your turn. You wanted to know why Michael was dumped in Miami?

I could barely remember asking the question. And at the moment couldn't fathom why I wanted to know so badly or why it was so important. I was too busy hating myself.

"He used to work for the government. And when they fire you, you don't get a gold watch and retirement. You get a one-way ticket back to where ever they found you."

Fiona's words slowly cleared my head of the guilt I was feeling and my interested was once again peaked.

"What did he do for the government?" I asked, pushing my luck and pressing on past the one question rule of our game.

Fiona didn't seem to mind this time, "He used to be a spy."

A spy? I instantly had visions of men in dark trench coats and fedoras meeting in back allies exchanging manila envelopes. A spy. That's a real job? It seemed to me more like the plot to a suspenseful movie, not someone's real life.

Fiona continued on, ignoring my stunned silence.

"He got fired, unjustly he believes, and he really wants his job back."

I nodded slowly. Still letting the whole 'my brother the international spy thing' sink in.

"I suppose his childhood is the reason he made such a good spy." Fiona said, staring off out the front windshield "And why he's so anxious to get out of Miami. Actually it explains a lot of things…"

"He was a good spy?" I asked, curious again about Michael's job.

"One of the best. The name Michael Westen is known all over the world, and feared in a lot of places."

_Feared?_ I thought to myself. People were scared of my brother? I wanted dissect the thought more, but I knew I had limited time with Fiona and still had so much to ask her.

"If he was so good, why did he get fired?" I asked.

"Don't know. He said he was blacklisted. He thinks he was set up. He's trying really hard to prove it," Fiona explained.

"So at dinner last week, you said that you and Michael met in Ireland. Was he out being a spy there?"

A dark look crossed Fiona's face and her body visible tensed. "Yes." She replied shortly. Something about the memory of Michael's spy time in Ireland hurt her deeply.

"What happened?" I asked, my concern for Fiona overriding my curiosity about Mike's career.

She suddenly snapped back, away from whatever memory she was lost in.

"Oh no. It's my turn to ask." She asked turning to me.

"Did Michael date a lot?"

I scoffed, "Really Fi? You wanna know about his ex-girlfriends?"

She gave me a hard stare and my smile quickly faded.

"Mike left home at 17, so I only really know about his high school girlfriends…"

Fiona looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue the dissertation on Michael's past partners.

"Well..." I said thinking back and trying hard to remember. "He didn't really date that much, and of course he never brought a girl over to the house so there could be some I don't know about. I know he was dating this girl Jennifer right before he left home. She ended up marrying this guy named Patrick Carney, which pissed Mike off to no end. He hated that kid." I looked over at Fi to find that she was completely fascinated by my story. Apparently there were a lot of things Michael never shared with her.

"And?" she questioned, pushing me to continue.

"There was a girl named Amy before that, but that was pretty brief. Actually all his relationships were pretty brief now I think about it. Michael had this sorta bad boy, angry, troublemaker persona in high school. So I think any of the girls that went out with him, were really doing so just to piss off their parents,"

Fiona smiled at that. I bet she was the kind of girl who took on a few bad boys herself.

"I don't remember him going out on real dates much... Oh! But there was this one time, I think he was a sophomore or junior he stole a couple of really nice shirts from a department store downtown. Mom found them when she was doing laundry and asked him about them. He said stole them so he could have something decent to wear to a dance. I guess she felt bad, cause she didn't even get mad. Who can blame him though? The Kmart brand doesn't exactly spell special night."

Fiona was quiet again, a thoughtful expression on her face. I knew she was trying to picture teenage Michael outfitted in his stolen dress shirts.

"Fi, if it makes you feel better, Mike was never in love with any of those girls," I said.

She turned back to me. "Oh I don't care," She said dismissively; sounding like she did, in fact, care very much.

I decided to get away from my brother's romantic past and get some more clues on his more recent endeavors.

"So a spy huh? That seems kind of hard to believe. What do spies do exactly?" I asked.

"Steal secrets, protect secrets… that kind of thing,"

"Oh. Well that doesn't sound so bad. Why is Mike always going on about how dangerous his job was?"

"Spies spend 90% of their time dealing with very bad people. Blackmailing these people, extorting them, lying to them, stealing from them. Eventually all those people realize it was a spy who took their precious information and they want revenge," Fiona explained.

"Oh." I said, speechless.

If Michael had been working as a spy for the last ten years, the list of people who would want to get revenge on him would be pretty long.

"Why would he want such a dangerous job back? Seems like it would be nice not to have people lined up to seek revenge on you," I asked Fi.

She shrugged, "That's what I keep telling him. I think he ought to give it up and enjoy a normal life for once, but of course he doesn't see it that way,"

At that, Fiona put the car into gear and guided us back onto the roadway, apparently continuing our journey back to the loft. Fi and I didn't talk the remainder of the trip. Our little question game had given me a lot to think about, not only about Michael's job but also about my outing of our past and I was lost in my own mind. Fiona seemed as equally lost, probably thinking about the confessions I had made.

As soon Fiona pulled up outside of Michael's place, she threw the car into park and handed me a set of lock picks.

"What's this for?" I asked, taking the small package from her and opening it up to look at the set.

"Your brother doesn't believe in spare keys. Apparently it's a security risk."

I rolled my eyes. "You aren't coming up? I asked her.

"No. I've gotta go see a friend. He's giving me a great deal on some Browning semi-automatics."

"Guns?" I asked, surprised.

"Beautiful guns," she said with a smile.

I gave her a half smile in return and got out of the car and made my way up to the loft, wondering vaguely about how difficult Mike's lock would be if he thought a spare key was a security risk.


End file.
